


Of Love and Basketball

by emansil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Everyone is of age, Harry gets a blow job, Harry is coming out of the closet, Harry is newly divorced, Harry is trying to deny his attraction to Hugo, Harry's a first time gay virgin, Hugo is doig everything he can to fight Harry's denial, Hugo is not a gay virgin, Hugo is up to helping Harry lose that gay virgin status, Hugo wanks in front of Harry, M/M, Multi-chaptered fic, NC-17 rating now achieved, Pub fic, Public Hand Jobs, They meet at Ron's house, basketball fic, go to a pub, introduction to characters chapter, share a beer, things start to heat up, watch more basketball, watch some basketball, with Ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-01-29 01:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emansil/pseuds/emansil
Summary: Harry has known he was gay since he was fourteen. Harry has also been in love with Ron Weasley since that same age.  When it comes to matters of the gay heart and body, Harry is an untouched virgin.Harry is newly divorced from his wife of twenty-five years, Ron's sister.Ron's son, Hugo, looking more and more like Ron everyday, is newly home after living abroad for a year or longer, and is not, it seems an untouched gay virgin.When Harry and Hugo meet again after many months apart, Harry's whole life is about to change.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Hugo Weasley
Comments: 23
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chaptered story this is for the most part finished. There's still some tweaking to be done, but mostly it is finished. There are at this ten chapters. I expect to post a new chapter every ten to twenty days, depending on how busy my work schedule becomes. 
> 
> I wish to thank Dominka and Ruth, without whom I doubt this project would have ever got past the initial idea.

Of Love and Basketball

Harry jumped back startled, when the door in Ron and Hermione’s hallway suddenly opened behind him. He’d flooed over expecting to meet Ron, but when Ron hadn’t responded to his shouts, Harry’d assumed he hadn’t arrived home yet. He’d been heading to the kitchen for a glass of water, unaware anyone else was home.

He spun around wand at the ready, just in case, and came face to face with a half-naked Hugo. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, Hugo was a replica of Ron fresh from the Gryffindor showers of thirty years past. Tall and lanky, but with broader shoulders, Hugo looked uncannily like his father. With the same bright blue eyes that looked directly into the soul, and a smile that drew the world to him. 

It was that smile--that open and infectious smile--that was so much like his dad’s that drew Harry in. Each wore their heart on their sleeve. Quick to anger, they were just as quick to forgive and forget. Though, neither of them found it easy to apologise in word, actions coming more naturally to them. There was never any subterfuge, they were what they were. 

That smile expanded as Hugo realised who he’d almost crashed into. Hugo had spent the past six months in New York, preparing for a new job with a financial advisory company. The year before that, he’d spent time in the Caribbean. Doing what, Harry wasn’t sure. Something to do with dolphins, he thought. At least eighteen months had passed since Harry had last seen him. He had filled out a great deal since then, 

“Uncle Harry!” Hugo cried excitedly, almost losing his towel only barely managing to catch it at the last moment, as he reached out to wrap Harry in a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming over.” He leaned in and nudged Harry with his shoulder-- his broad naked shoulder-- parked right next to his equally broad and naked chest. Harry’s breath caught at the intense maleness of the man who stood next to him. The heady fragrance of fresh mint shampoo, cleans and honest soap and the scented steam from the shower that permeated the air was undeniably Hugo, and undeniably male. 

Unaccountably uncomfortable at being this close to the embodiment of a desire Harry had held secret for decades, he took a step back. It was now abundantly clear that with each passing year, Hugo had grown into a man ever more like his father. A fact Harry had somehow failed to notice until now, even though it had been happening under his own supposed constant vigilance. 

Harry had been completely and utterly in love with his best friend, Ron Weasley, since he was fourteen years old, only to have almost lost it all to Ron’s own envy and his constant fears of never being enough. All of it happening within the same two-month period, one of the most agonising and confusing periods of his life. Sure, there had been the whole Voldemort trying to kill him thing, but what value would his life have had, without his best mate by his side? Harry had known even then though, that Ron was straight and would never return those feelings. 

Harry’s divorce from Ron’s sister had been finalised today. The papers all signed, dated and recorded in the solicitor’s office just a few hours earlier. 

A year ago to the day Ginny, his wife of twenty five years, had greeted him at the door with legal separation papers and request for a divorce. She was leaving him for the woman she loved; had loved for most of their marriage. 

Incompatibility and failure to satisfy her sexually were the reasons Ginny had listed for the divorce. Harry had had to struggle to withhold the snort that had threatened to burst out of him when he’d heard the charges. The same could be said about her as well. Of course, she didn’t know that.

No one knew that. 

Now that his divorce was official, Harry had every intention of getting completely snookered. And if a nice, interesting and relatively handsome stranger--with a cock, a hard-muscled chest and broad shoulders showed an interest in him, well—Harry was going to return that interest in triplicate. He wasn’t just coming out of the closet, Harry planned on barreling out of it, full steam ahead. 

Ron had agreed to accompany him to the pub, but Ron had no idea of what Harry had planned for after. His best mate still did not know that Harry was gay-- that was going to change tonight. Nor did he know that Harry was in love with him, and had been for years—_that_ he was never going to learn. 

Shaking his head and clearing his thoughts as feelings and memories ran through him. In the few seconds it took between the reality of the overwhelming maleness of Hugo and Harry’s own realisation that his own reaction to Hugo had been completely unexpected and worrisome. Needing to put some space between them Harry pulled away. 

His expression puzzled, most likely from Harry’s sudden aloofness, Hugo drew back. Since he had been a child, Harry and he had always had a special bond, each of them the other’s favourite. Harry’s rejection had to have stung, yet Hugo just huffed in laughter, perhaps putting the sting of it behind him. 

Looking directly at Harry, Hugo placed his hand on Harry’s arm, squeezing the biceps lightly, but enough to notice, and asked with genuine concern, “Uncle Harry, everything okay? You seem to be sort of withdrawn today.” His hand on Harry’s arm loosened slightly, but did not let go. “Hey, I understand you’re a free man, once again. How are you feeling about that? Got any plans on getting your leg over tonight?” A slight waggle of his eyebrows, as well a soft and questioning smile, Hugo’s hand moved over Harry’s arm in a gentle almost unnoticeable caress. 

Harry’s unusually strong emotional reaction to Hugo left him more than a bit confused. He had never had that strong of a reaction to Hugo before. He had no idea what to do with it. In response to Hugo’s gentle teasing, Harry laughed, embarrassed, and rubbed at the back of his neck. _Fuck, how had he known?_

Hugo barked in laughter, his own complexion slightly more flushed than usual. “Ah, looks like I hit that nail squarely on the head.” His expression going shy and tenuous, he leaned in, “Are you planning on sticking with the fairer sex, or are you looking to expand your field of opportunities? I understand it’s quite the rage to swing both ways at times like this.” 

Harry blinked, unable to answer. Desperate to change the subject, he turned and moved down the hall to the kitchen. “Did your dad happen to say when he’d be home?” 

Hugo grabbed an extra towel from the linen closet and headed towards his room, roughly drying the thick and bushy ginger curls that spouted like a fountain from the top of his head. He called back over his shoulder. “There were no messages indicating he was going to be late, but you know how things at _Wheezes_ can go. Though, I can’t imagine he’ll be too long.”

“Mum won’t be in until way late. She’s writing a new policy for the Ministry. Something about the danger to wizards from other places around the world, where being a wizard is dangerous. She wants to make sure Great Britain is a place for them to feel safe.” His voice moving further and further away, until finally, Harry heard only the sound of a door closing. 

Once he’d reached the kitchen, Harry determined a glass of water just wasn’t going to cut it. He needed something stronger. Opening the larder door, he found several bottles of his favourite ale _The Alchemist Brewery Heady Topper _on the shelf. Grabbing one, he twisted the top off, tossed it in the rubbish bin and moved into the living room. He switched on the telly, and started flipping through the channels. The Granger-Weasley clan was addicted to Muggle telly, including the 24 hour a day sports channels. 

Harry himself had recently become a rabid consumer of the sport of basketball. The half-naked men that ran up and down the court broad shouldered, hard and muscled biceps, along with rippling thighs and calves, sweat dripping from their faces and the sheen of perspiration may have something to do with the attraction. May have? Hell, the number of times he’d wanked during halftime and after the games had become too numerous to count. Even so, he found it an exciting sport, and had grown to appreciate the skill, not to mention the stamina it took to play it well. 

Having become enamoured of the game, Harry had decided to put a regulation sized goal of his own in the back garden. Playing mostly by himself at first, he’d shoot the ball at the goal, missing more than hitting at first. Little by little he had improved. Eventually he began working on his ball control, with dribbling and passing practice. Surprisingly, it was Penelope, Percy’s wife that played with him. She too, was a closeted fan of the NBA. 

After channel surfing a few moments, he found a live viewing of an early round of the NBA championship series, and settled in to watch, putting Hugo Granger-Weasley and how much he resembled his father, not to mention and Harry’s own surprising reaction, firmly out of his mind. 

Until just minutes later, when Hugo reappeared, dressed in a pair of cargo shorts that rested loosely against the sharp angles of his hip bones, only just managing to cover the dimples of his arse. _Oh dear lord, how was he supposed to deal with this?_ Harry asked himself as Hugo, barefoot as well as shirtless, plopped down on the sofa right next to him.

A perfectly good chair sat sitting completely empty, and with an excellent view of the television, not to mention the also totally vacant opposite end of the sofa. Why did he have to sit so close to Harry? Why? Why? Why? 

Hugo’s shoulder was close enough to brush against Harry’s, and it was impossible to keep from noticing the similarities between father and son. Broad like Ron’s and while not tan by any stretch of imagination, Hugo’s shoulders were a pale golden colour, as if kissed by the son, and covered with freckles. Harry couldn’t help but wonder how much of Hugo’s time was spent outdoors. 

Stretched out in front of him, Hugo’s legs were lean and muscular; covered in soft ginger hair that did little to obstruct his multitude of freckles. The calves, full and rounded ended in ankles and a pair of long and bony feet with ridiculously long toes. Fascinated by them, Harry stared, his gaze settling on Hugo’s feet. Harry, it seemed, had a foot fetish. How had he not realised it before now, or was it just Hugo’s feet that he felt this attraction to? 

Harry grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swallow, then almost choked as Hugo crossed his foot over his knee bringing it even closer to Harry’s view. _Oh, fucking hell! _ This was torture. Exquisite torture, yes, but torture nonetheless. 

As Harry lowered his arm, Hugo reached out and plucked the same bottle from Harry’s hand. “Here give me some of that. It’s so hot. Can you believe it’s only April? Why is it so hot, in April? I mean this is England we’re talking about. I’m dying here. I thought the shower would cool me off, but I don’t know, it doesn’t seem to have worked.” Side-eyeing Harry has he spoke, Hugo then placed his lips, full and soft (or so they looked to Harry) on the same place on the mouth of the bottle that Harry’s lips had just been. Almost like a kiss, separated only by the glass of the bottle, and the seconds between the two. Harry watched, unable to turn away as Hugo swallowed his throat convulsing as the liquid moved down. 

Handing the bottle back to Harry, Hugo looked up and caught what was happening on the screen, surprised pleasure on his face. “Hey, look! It’s the Spurs.” He leaned forward to catch more of the action. 

“You know the Spurs?” Harry asked. “You watch basketball?”

“Hell yeah, I watch basketball, whenever I find it on. I love it. The Spurs are my favourite team, next to the Celtics. They’re really my favourite. When I was in New York I kept hoping I’d be able to take the train and catch one of their games live, but could never get it to happen. Can you imagine how great it would be to watch a game in person, right at court level? How about you, what’s your favourite team?” 

“More of a Warriors fan myself, but like you, the Spurs are my second.” 

Hugo snorted at Harry’s admittance. “You know, being a Warriors fan is like admitting you’re a fan of Christmas. Everyone’s a Warriors fan.” 

Choosing to ignore him, Harry continued. “They’ve such talent on that team and they seem to be decent people. You know, not caught up in all the hype and glory,” Harry said as he relaxed back on the sofa. He could do this. He and Hugo could discuss basketball and it would be fine. Firmly telling that part of him that had begun to express an interest in so many tempting things—freckles that covered Hugo’s chest like the millions of stars that light up the night skies over the Sahara Desert, the unprepared for sensuousness of Hugo’s feet, the long line of Hugo’s throat as he swallowed his ale, and the sheen of hard male bodies perspiring on the telly--to calm the fuck down. 

“Uncle Harry, are you okay. You went a bit tense there for a moment. I’d be happy to give you a back rub, might help you relax,” Hugo offered. 

Panicked at the thought of his potential reaction to Hugo’s touch, Harry grabbed the bottle from Hugo and drained it and shook his head. “No, but thanks for the offer.”

“No worries,” Hugo said. “I’ll get us another. This one’s empty. ” 

As Hugo stood the legs of his cargo shorts rode up giving Harry a glimpse of a tattoo along Hugo’s right thigh. From the angle he was viewing it Harry wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but it looked to be a dolphin, or some sort of sea creature. 

Curious as to its origin, Harry was about to ask its history when the _whoosh_ of the floo and a flash of light interrupted. They looked up just as Ron stumbled through and promptly tripped over Harry’s shoes. 

Harry grimaced and shrugged a silent. “Sorry,” He’d removed them as soon as he’d arrived as per Hermione’s strict guidelines. Anyone entering her home knew to remove their shoes as soon as they arrived, or face dire consequences. They were also supposed to put them on the shelf next to the fireplace, something Harry had been forgetting of late. Since his marriage had ended, he’d started to revert back to the previous sloppiness of bachelorhood. 

Or maybe, since he had done everything he was supposed to do, and his marriage had still ended, this was his meagre attempt at rebellion. He wasn’t sure; what he did know was he no longer paid any attention to these sorts of rules. 

Frowning at Harry, Ron bent to remove his own shoes. A flick of his wand, had both pairs flying to their designated spots. “Been here long, mate? Sorry I was late. There have been some problems with a new product. It keeps exploding, when you don’t want it to, and not when it’s supposed to.”

He removed his traveling robes and sent them flying to a line of hooks on the wall, one for each member of the family. “What’re you watching? Basketball?” Ron scoffed in contempt. “Again? Still don’t get your interest in that game.” Declarative statements and questions tumbled out of him as he loosened his tie, and spied the beer sitting on the table. “Oi, does that look good! Are there more?” Harry nodded, his gaze never leaving Ron. “Get you another one?” Ron called out as he wandered into the kitchen.

It was the same as always. Ron entered a room and Harry’s attention immediately centered on him. 

Only this time, a part of Harry’s attention remained focused on Hugo, wondering how long it would be before Ron noticed his son’s state of undress. Not long, as it turned out, as Ron made an abrupt stop, then turned slowly to examine his currently shirtless and barefoot son, sitting on the sofa. “Umm Hugo, did you forget to put the rest of your clothes on before you joined Harry on the sofa? Didn’t your mum and I talk to you about the way you were dressing, or rather _not_ dressing, lately?” 

Turning to Harry, Ron continued. “Found him yesterday on the back terrace, in just a pair of those boxer briefs. Personally, I prefer a bit more room, my bits like to breathe, but to each their own. The point is: he was in his Pants. Outside, on the terrace. Anyone could have seen.”

He turned back to Hugo. “Harry doesn’t want to see you running around half naked. Do you?” he asked Harry. 

Harry averted his face. The thought of Hugo in a pair of boxer briefs, his bits snuggly encased in the soft cotton that hugged his arse and legs. Long freckled legs that seemed to on forever had Harry’s cock leaping to attention. Harry struggled to maintain his control over his body. Only constant thoughts of large tits, via Pansy Parkinson or Lavender Brown chasing him down a dark alley, or Hagrid dressed as Las Vegas showgirl complete with feathered boas and sequined bodices kept him in the competition. 

Finally, giving it up as a lost cause, Harry settled for clasping the beer in in his clasped hands and placed them casually over this engorged cock, hoping the coolness of the beer would reduce his obvious excitement. At the very least cover it up. 

Blushing brightly, Hugo sat silently, looking up at Ron. He didn’t say anything. But Harry could tell, he was starting to sweat a bit, and not from the heat. Hugo was a good kid with an inordinate amount of respect and affection for both his parents. While Hugo had inherited his mum’s compassion and empathy for others, he’d also received his dad’s tendency to say what he thought, whenever he wanted. For a moment there it looked as if a war of wills of the Granger-Weasley family was about to take place. “But, Dad, it’s so hot,” he whined softly, at last. 

The temperature had been abnormally high for April, so Harry really couldn’t fault him for his choice of clothing. If he’d thought he could get away with it, Harry might have done the same. He really wished Hugo would remain as he was, at least keep the cargo shorts on. Harry was intrigued by that brief glimpse of his tattoo, and he wanted another look. 

“Come on, Hugo. Go put some clothes on, at least a shirt. Your mum would have a _Mooncalf_ if she saw you like that, especially with Harry here. If you’re really that uncomfortable, I imagine between myself and Harry we can manage a half decent cooling charm. Am I right Harry?” 

“Um yeah, but aren’t we going out? I really need you to either commiserate with me over my divorce from your sister being final today, or—“

“Oh bloody hell! Oops, I mean to say. Oh Merlin,” Ron corrected himself in front of his child, who rolled his eyes and grinned at Harry. Harry wasn’t sure why Ron even bothered as he mistakenly cussed in front of his children more often than not. “That’s right. Today’s been so crazy, I forgot all about that. Hell yeah, we’re going. Only there’ll be none of that commiserating stuff. You’re getting a leg over, if I have anything to say about it. I’d love to find just the right bird for you. I’m happy to talk you up. Be your wingman as it were.” 

Harry cast a glance at Hugo who just shrugged in a “told you so” kind of way. “We’ll find you a lovely lass with perfect Parkinson sized tits. Yeah?” 

Ron grinned maniacally as he raised his hands in front of him and flexed his fingers as if milking a cow or squeezing a pair of breasts. “Man I can’t believe it’s my sister who gets to snuggle up with those babies night after night. Boy, what I couldn’t do with something like those,” he cackled while Harry shivered absolutely terrified by the thought of having breasts the size of Pansy’s anywhere near him. 

“Dad!” Hugo yelled in horror and embarrassment as he collapsed on the sofa in giggles, while Harry just shook his head in bemusement. Ron would always be the same. He talked a good game, but everyone knew he was desperately in love with Hermione and had been since they were in school. The thought of cheating on her would never occur to him. 

Ron then turned suddenly sober; casting a quick glance around to make sure Hermione hadn’t unexpectedly appeared out of thin air, before grinning at the two of them. “Just kidding. Let me go get changed and I’ll be right with you. Besides I’m betting Hermione still remembers that bird conjuring spell from sixth year. Just hearing that advert for that rental car company, ‘Avis’ has me breaking out in a cold sweat. Am I right Harry?” He turned towards Harry and they both shuddered dramatically while Hugo in confused amusement glanced back and forth, between the two of them as they laughed in memory. 

“Could I maybe tag along too?” Hugo asked. “I’ve nothing going on tonight and it might be fun to watch Uncle Harry, ‘getting his groove on’,” Hugo said with a laugh. “Maybe I can even pull some attention your way,” waggling his eyebrows up and down as he waved a pretend cigar, like some demented star from the silent movie era. 

_I’ve no doubt you could, _ Harry thought, but said nothing until he heard Ron say, “Ask your Uncle if it’s okay. It’s his night.”

“What do you say, Uncle Harry. Can I come?” 

Harry thought for a moment. He’d been looking forward to spending the evening with Ron—up to a point, of course. That point being when Harry found someone to maybe chat up -- but the opportunity to spend even more time with Hugo was too tempting to pass-up. “It’s up to you Hugo, if you want to come waste an evening with us old-age pensioners, its okay with me.” He teased the young man. 

Hugo grinned and leaned forward to stand as if he was ready to walk out the door that very minute. 

“But you’re not going like that. I thought I told you to go change?” Ron sighed, exasperated. 

Fifteen minutes later, Hugo emerged from his room. Harry blinked, unable to look away. The change in his clothing, while dramatic, did nothing to hide the fit body underneath. Perfectly fitted bleached jeans strategically ripped at the upper thighs, and just under the left knee, that he’d topped off with a black t-shirt stretched snug but not too tight across his chest and shoulders. 

His hair shaved closed on the sides, while the top was thick with burnished copper curls, the result of the latest in Sleekeazy's hair products. Stopping by the floo, he slid his feet into a pair of bright red hi-tops. As he squatted down to complete lacing them, Harry couldn’t help but gulp as saliva flooded his mouth, at the flash of creamy freckled skin that peeked out from the enticing rip just below Hugo’s right cheek, and the rounded indention that separated bum from upper thigh. 

Hugo straightened and stamping his feet in them for comfort, he turned towards Harry and said, “I’m ready. Can we go?” Breaking Harry’s stunned silence. 

Ron _hooted_ Hermione’s mobile to let her know they were going out and would most likely be home late. Once they had realised the ease of Muggle technology, the Wizarding World had instantly embraced it, especially for instant contact with another. It beat the hell out of the constant owls. The call finished, he reached out and curled his hand around Harry’s elbow. Together they brought Hugo in close, and the three of them Disapparated away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_The Mug and Pie_ was a local pub that specialized in craft and local beer and pies, both savory and sweet, ranging in all sizes and shapes. Frequented by both Muggle and Magical clientele, the two sections were separated by a mirrored wall. The Wizarding side was accessible only by the tip of a wand as it discreetly tapped out a secret code, similar to the one for entry into Diagon Alley. The wall would then thin to the consistency of a thick fog and they were able to slide between the two sides with ease.

Entering the Muggle side, Harry’s hearing was immediately filled with the scratchy sounds and shrill feedback of an announcer’s voice coming through a microphone, the subtle murmurings and occasional roars of a crowd in an enclosed space, the sound of multiple pairs of feet pounding back and forth on a hard surface, and above all the unmistakable _thump, thump, thump_ of a ball hitting the floor in a rhythmic pattern: all familiar sounds to someone who spent hours watching basketball on the Telly. From the sound of surprised joy from Hugo, Harry knew he had heard them as well. 

Grinning and all but high-fiving each other, they quickly grabbed a table in front of one of the extra-large screens, soon realising that the Bulls and the Grizzlies were engaged in an early playoff game. 

A few other patrons glanced at the screen periodically, but it was clear from the general lack of interest and the ever present flow of conversation, American basketball was not a fan favourite in this part of London.

Ron heaved a long sigh of frustration and rolled his eyes at the two of them “I’ll go order us a round. Pints, all around?” he asked as he turned to go. 

“Hey get us a basket of their taco pasties, while you’re at it. I’ll get the first round. I’m the reason we’re here,” Harry said. “Okay with you?” he asked Hugo, as he handed Ron some cash. Harry generally covered the tab when they were on the Muggle side, as he was usually the one with the Muggle money. 

Hugo nodded eagerly. “Yes. I’m bloody starved.” 

Harry laughed. “Like father, like son.”

“Oh, and you’re seen so often turning down offers of food.” He smirked back at Harry with a twinkle in his eye. 

Ron brought the drinks and food back to their table. They soon settled into a routine of eating, drinking and watching the screens placed around them. Conversation flowed between them and around them. They talked about their day: the latest inventions _Wheezes_ was working on and the various difficulties they were having with them. Harry’s feelings about his divorce being finalised, and did he have plans for how he was going to spend his holiday? Had he heard from any of the kids lately? And how was Rose making out on her expedition with Luna and the rest of the Scamander family? 

All too soon though, Harry and Hugo’s attention had been captured by the game and the conversation was reduced to the two of them talking about the game: fouls that the ref had somehow missed, traveling violations that were more frequent than they would have thought; amazing three-point and defensive plays that had them, and others, up on their feet. 

Not surprisingly, Ron soon grew bored, and when Ron grew bored, he tended towards restlessness and whinging. Harry generally paid him no mind; it was just what Ron did. “I can’t believe we’re sitting here watching this again. I mean they’re just running back and forth like it’s some sort of sprints or something. What kind of competition is that?” 

“And putting the ball in the hoop while nine other players are trying to take it away from them,” Hugo mumbled under his breath. Harry smiled down at the table in front of him. 

“Where’s the danger, where’s the excitement?” Ron continued on, either having not heard, or paid attention to Hugo’s mumbling. “Why aren’t we on the wizarding side, watching Quidditch matches? Or failing that, we could, at least, be watching a British sport, like football.”

“Dad,” Hugo said sighing, “You know how important this is to me. Watching these games reminds me of spending weekends with Gramps Granger. I loved those times with him.” 

Ron had sat silently. “Hugo, I’m sorry, but I’ve never understood the interest and I’m really bored watching something I don’t like or understand and have no interest in learning. I’m going to go over to the other side. There might be Quidditch match on that I can watch while you two stay here.” He stood to leave. “Don’t forget Harry, you’re supposed to be looking for a shag for the evening, not watching sports on the television, no matter what sport it is.” 

Hugo turned and stared at his father. “Hey, look if you want to go just because you can’t stand the possibility of maybe missing a stupid Quidditch game instead of spending time with your best mate, who could very well be hurting from the fact that he’s newly divorced. Or from spending time with your son whose been gone for the past year, don’t let us stop you.” His voice shook with emotion, but not necessarily anger. 

Harry glanced between the two of them, as Ron began to gather up his pint and what was left of the pasties. They were supposed to be for all of them, and Ron had already had more than his share. The atmosphere was already tense enough. Though who was the most to blame, Harry really couldn’t say, so he let it slide. 

Barely looking at the other, as Ron started to walk away, Hugo mumbled, “Enjoy the death game,” under his breath. 

“So tell me when and how you became so interested in basketball. I know you didn’t get it from your dad,” Harry asked hoping to relieve some of the tension as he watched Ron walk towards the tiled divide. 

“You think?” Hugo chuckled softly. “I used to stay with my Gramps and Grammy a lot on the weekends. Not Molly and Arthur, but the ones on the Muggle side.”

He turned to Harry. “My Gramps Granger was a huge basketball fan, loved to watch all the games. We’d stay up late, late, late, used to make Grammy so mad. We’d watch the games, surfing through the channels until we’d find a game being broadcast from across the pond. We’d cook some popcorn and get bottles of fizzy soda and stay up watching the games, cheering our teams on, and talking about all sorts of stuff.” Hugo’s face took on an expression of deep sorrow. “I miss him so much.”

“What happened to him? Did he die?” Harry could hear his voice get high and shrill. Why hadn’t he known about this? This was her father. Did they think he was incapable of giving her the emotional support she needed? He should have been there for her. Anxiety built inside Harry, why did it seem he was never there when his friends needed him. “Why didn’t your mum tell me her father had died?”

Hugo shook his head. “No, Harry, he’s not dead, but he might as well be. He has this muggle memory loss disease called Alzheimer’s. It comes on when people start getting older. There’s no prevention and there’s no cure, and you don’t even know you have it until it’s too late. Often, he can't remember what day it is, or who the people who love him are. Usually he thinks Mum is his new bride. He’s no clue at all who I am, or memories of all the time we used to spend together. But then he has these good days and he can remember most everything, but it only lasts a short time, then it’s gone again. Watching these games helps me to remember the way he used to be.” 

Harry watched as Hugo visibly pulled himself together, putting the sad feelings about his Gramps behind him then said, smirking gleefully. “He was a huge fan of the Grizzles and so am I. They are going to whip the Bull’s arse tonight. Just you wait and see.”

“Hugo?” Harry said quietly, “I’m sorry you and your dad are fighting. I never knew about your gramps. It sounds like he’s very important to you. I never had a chance to know my grandparents. I would have loved to have spent time with them. But I’ve always wondered something. Why do you hate Quidditch so much?” Harry asked. Ever since he’d been a kid, Hugo had hated the Wizarding sport, absolutely refusing to even consider it, causing his father and the rest of his Quidditch loving family, no small amount of frustration. 

“It’s a stupid and dangerous game.” Hugo answered tersely. “People could get seriously hurt.” 

“But—"Harry attempted, wanting to understand why.

“Uncle Harry, just drop it. It’s none of your concern.” Hugo snapped and turned back to the game, but Harry could see he was still seething underneath. 

Sitting in silence, they stared at the screen in front of them, but Harry was pretty sure neither of them was really watching. Thinking it might be time for a change in subject he was about to ask Hugo about his upcoming new job, when Ron reappeared at the table, his mobile pressed to his ear. 

They waited until sighing, Ron put the phone down and turned to them. “Looks like I’m going to have to leave you two to it. That was George. Remember that dodgy new product, I told you about. Well, it just blew the second storeroom up. How much merchandise we may have lost is unclear. I need to go check on it.”

“Fuck, Ron, I’m so sorry. Is George okay?” Harry asked. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Ron shook his head, “No, he’s fine. Luckily he was wearing protective gear, just in case something like this happened. Look, you two just enjoy yourselves.” Finishing off half of the pint he’d just paid for in one final draught. “No point in letting it go to waste, am I right? Hugo, try to make it home before the sun rises, okay.” He stopped for a few seconds, lingering by the table.

“Hugo, listen,” he said finally, “I’m sorry about earlier. I know you miss your gramps and those times with him. I really wish there was something more that could be done.” Ron reached out and gave Hugo a quick hug, causing Hugo to blush and squirm a bit in the booth, though his joy at this public and spontaneous show of affection from his father was easily visible. 

“And you,” Ron turned to look pointedly at Harry, “don’t forget this is your night to cut loose. Somewhere, in this city is the perfect bird just waiting for you to do unmentionables to her. Don’t let this one”, he nodded in Hugo’s direction, “keep you sitting here and watching American sports all night. You need to cut loose.” He turned and walked towards the exit. 

“Think everything will be okay?” Harry asked Hugo.

“Yeah, it’s fine. _Wheezes_ is the most popular and profitable joke shop in all of Great Britain and is starting to make a name for itself in Western Europe also. We learned about it in one of the marketing and entrepreneur classes that I took. They‘ve got a wonderful name for themselves, always bringing the best in innovative new products, and if something goes wrong, they take it off the market immediately, and give full refunds. The customers love them.” 

“That reminds me,” Harry said. “I was just about to ask you, when your new job starts? What’s the name of the company again?”

Hugo smiled, and turned back towards Harry leaning on his elbows on the table. “In two weeks. They’re called _B and D Financial Advisors_, and they’ve been great so far. They paid for my extra training in New York, and not just the cost of my courses. They paid for my hotel, a really swank one too, and all my meals, whatever and wherever I wanted. Extra stuff too, like tickets to Broadway shows, and museums. They even paid for me to have a personal shopper to some of the nicest men’s clothing stores. Mr Zabini said that for me to be a true success I have to look the part, so they paid for a whole wardrobe.”

“Zabini?” Harry asked. “Blaise Zabini?”

“Well yeah, he’s the B in _B and D Financial Advisors._ Anyway, he’s ridiculously stylish, but not nearly so much as---”

“Draco Malfoy?” Harry sighed. “Let me guess. He’s the D.”

“Yes,” Hugo looked quite pleased. “How did you know?”

Harry just rolled his eyes.

“I know Dad doesn’t care much for Mr Malfoy, but really there’s more to him than most people realise,” Hugo said. “There’s this softer side he keeps hidden away. He tries to act as if he’s cold and unfeeling, only I’ve seen how his face lights up whenever Scorpius is mentioned. I’m also sure he’s as crazy about his wife is Dad is about Mum.”

Hugo paused, his expression pensive, his gaze clearly unfocused as it slid past Harry. “I only hope I can find someone to feel that way about someday,” his gaze flicking up and focusing on Harry for a brief second, before he picked up his glass and drained it. 

“Have you spent a lot of time with Malfoy?” Harry asked wondering how long it had taken Hugo to come to those conclusions. 

“Oh we spent about an hour together one day. He helped me with the application for study in New York.” The smile on his face and the way he spoke, it was clear; Hugo had a lot of respect and admiration for Malfoy. 

Harry was now doubly impressed. Hugo’s reputation for being able to read and understand people and all without the use of Legilimency has not been overrated. 

Both of their glasses had emptied, and Harry was still hungry, Ron having finished off the earlier basket. “Are you up for another round, food included?”

Hugo’s face lit up, just like Ron’s did whenever his favourite foods were mentioned. “Some of their chips, the ones with the extra seasonings, maybe, those are great.”

Not sure his stomach was going to recover from the seasonings he’d already consumed, Harry looked at him dubiously. Finally he shrugged. “What the fuck, it’s only for one night, and I’m off work for the next week. If I get intestinal distress, I’ll have the entire week to recover.” 

Hugo, of course, had been right. The chips were excellent. Not too spicy, but enough to keep you coming back for more. They chatted about the most inconsequential things as they watched the game, and when the conversation ebbed, as it often did in situations like this, they played with the coasters on the table. Each of them casting periodic glances at the other, but never saying anything in those moments. 

Using the pads of their fingers they picked up the last of the spicy seasonings that remained on the bottom of the empty chips basket, which inevitably led to the even faster consumption of their beverages. Sometimes the tips of their fingers would touch. At first, they quickly moved them away. Then it happened and Hugo didn’t move his. Harry looked up to see Hugo grinning at him, Harry smiling back silent questions being asked, but no answer given—not yet, but perhaps later. 

The emotional exhaustion of the last few days and the subtle feeling of the alcohol buzzing through his veins, beginning to overtake him, Harry stretched his arm across the table, reaching towards Hugo’s hand. Resting his head on his arm, Harry began to realise he was well on his way to being sloshed, but his glass was empty and he wanted more: more drinks, more time with Hugo, more impossible touches and looks. 

Hugo volunteered to go and get the next round. Watching him walk across the room, stumbling and accidently knocking his hip, leg or arm, as he wove through the chairs and tables, it became obvious Hugo was having the same problem. Harry thought he should probably say something to stop him from buying more, but he simply didn’t want to. Then Hugo turned back around, and grinning waved at Harry. Hugo’s face lighting up in a way that made Harry feel the sun itself was now shining on him, and he knew he wasn’t going to say a word. 

Truth be told, Harry was very much enjoying the flirtatious looks Hugo had been giving him, as well as the multitude of minutiae touches, all perfectly innocent and subtle, but fraught with hints of maybe more to come. It had been a really long fucking time since Harry had had an opportunity such as this given to him. 

The drinks balanced in his hands, Hugo returned to the table, and managing to spill only a small portion, fell, more than sat, onto the same side of the booth as Harry. Cautiously placing the foaming mugs on the table; Hugo then heaved a huge sigh of relief and collapsed laughing against Harry’s shoulder. “Boy that took some doing. Those damn chairs kept jumping out in front of me, and my feet simply would not cooperate. They kept going off in their own direction. But I made it.”

He sighed deeply and snuggled in even closer. “Did you miss me? Cause I missed you.” 

Harry’s shoulder smoldered from the heat of Hugo being pressed against it, against him. Harry remained silent and still, on the outside. But he was anything but: What was he supposed to do now? Was Hugo hitting on him? _Oh god!_ And if he was, how was Harry supposed to respond? What did he mean about Harry missing him, and him missing Harry? Was that another sign? Fuck! Things like this didn’t happen to him, and if they did it had been so long ago, he simply had no idea what to do. Doubt and confusion seized him. Dear Merlin, it felt so good, so warm so friendly, so inappropriate. 

The game returned to the screen and Harry slowly turned his head to watch, careful not to disturb Hugo, or the pleasant warmth of him against Harry’s shoulder. As he turned, Hugo’s head fell into that space between neck and shoulder, Hugo wriggling comfortably into it and settling himself in place. And when Hugo took hold of Harry’s hand and began to rub his fingers along the back of Harry’s knuckles, Harry had no idea what was happening on the screen, though he was looking right at it. All he could think of instead, was how baffled he was by how strong his feelings for Hugo had become in such a short amount of time. 

After a few moments in which Harry went from feeling ill at ease to savouring the weight of Hugo pressed up against him. Soon though, he couldn’t help but notice that Hugo’s head no longer leaned against him. He found himself missing that closeness and wanted it back again. Also, Hugo had become uncharacteristically quiet. 

Harry turned to find Hugo’s body leaning away from him, his attention, however remained focused on Harry. “When did you know?” Hugo asked, apropos of absolutely nothing Harry could remember them talking about and no longer seeming as intoxicated as he had appeared earlier. 

“When did I know what?” Harry asked, confused by the question. Lifting his glass, he drank, filling his mouth with the hoppy taste of ale. 

“That you preferred men?” No smile or laughter, or even a wink and a nod accompanied his words. Instead, Hugo remained as serious as a heart attack.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harry gasped, unfortunately at the same time he was swallowing. Gasping and sputtering he tried to keep from choking. Breathing became even more difficult and he was getting a bit panicky.

Hugo subtly drew his wand, ready to cast a spell, if the need persisted. “Uncle Harry, are you alright?”

Still sputtering, Harry nodded weakly.

The disaster averted and Harry able to breathe again, he took several good clean breaths and sipped a little of the water another patron had kindly brought him. Lifting his head, he stared at Hugo. “What did you just ask me? Why would you ask something like that?” He tried to put on his steeliest look, but feared he probably just looked shell-shocked and terrified.

“If you’re asking why, you already know the what. But I’ll rephrase it. I asked when you knew you liked cock.” Hugo stared defiantly at him as Harry stared back, stunned with no idea how to proceed. Hugo then seemed to wilt, turning his attention to an advert for feminine hygiene products that was currently on the screen.

Every bit of Harry focused on the question: how had Hugo known?

Hugo turned back to Harry. “I mean if it was a while ago, why didn’t you do anything about it? More importantly why did you marry Aunt Ginny?” Hugo paused to look questioningly at Harry. “I guess it’s possible you did, but I don’t think so. If it was recently, can you tell me what happened to make you realise?”

“Why does it matter?” Harry answered aware that he hadn’t actually denied the allegation. He studiously examined the table in front of him, hoping it would do something to capture his attention, making it easier for him to avoid Hugo, or even looking in his direction. Did he even want to deny it? He had been after all, intending to meet and go home with another bloke. This was to be his ‘roaring’ out of the closet debut.

“I’m just curious as to how long you’ve denied who you are.” 

“What makes you think I am? Gay, I mean.” Again Harry wondered why he wasn’t just admitting it. He knew he was; had known it for years. 

Hugo shrugged. “Well, as the saying goes: ‘it takes one to know one’. Surely, you’ve heard of ‘gaydar’.” He chuckled softly and returned to tracing the knuckles along the back of Harry’s hand.

Harry swallowed audibly, tracking the movement of Hugo’s hand on his with his eyes. He then raised his head to Hugo, questioning.

Hugo grinned at him and Harry’s heart began to beat just a bit faster. “Yes, in answer to your unasked question, I’ve known I was gay since I was twelve, maybe sooner. And you’re to blame.”

“Me! What did I do?”

Hugo shrugged. “I can’t explain it. You were just yourself. You’d been my hero since I was four. It’s true,” he said nodding his head at Harry’s surprised look. “When I was twelve, you and Dad, along with some others came inside, after playing a round of Quidditch in the back garden. Once again, you had defended my not wanting to play against Dad and the others. I was already enamored of you for that alone.

“The day was a lot hotter than expected. You came in hot and sweaty and tore your shirt off over your head wiping the sweat from your face and upper body. Your skin darkened into this golden brown from the sun. You simply glowed from fun and excitement and love of Quidditch.” Hugo’s face turned a bit red and he smiled at the memories.

“Merlin, but you were gorgeous. Then laughing you tossed the sweat-soaked garment at me. I remember I had just had a shower and I’d wanted to look my best for you. Even then I had such a crush,” Hugo blushed again. “Only now, I had this dirty sweaty thing that had just landed on my head. I got so upset, I almost started to cry.”

Instantly you stopped laughing and came over to me and apologised. You ran a cleaning spell over me, including my hair, and placed the shirt in the laundry. Hell, if it happened now, I’d probably sneak it out of the laundry and take it upstairs with me and sleep with it every night, unwashed, wanting to keep the scent of you as long as possible.” Hugo raised his eyes, smiling at Harry.

“I felt so humiliated. I just knew the others were going to make fun of me. Then you took the pads of your thumbs and rubbed the tears from my cheeks and under my eyes and said how sorry you were. That someone as nicely turned out I as was that day, should never be treated in such a cavalier manner. I think I went from just a crush to being the tiniest bit in love with you that very day. Oh, it most likely wasn’t real love, but I felt something strong, and its never really left.”

Harry said nothing in response. What could he say? He’d always found it so confusing when he learned that someone had once had a crush on him. There was nothing crush-worthy about him. He was just Harry -- dull, boring, old, and set in his ways -- Harry.

“All I know was I fell asleep that night with you on my mind instead of worrying about the train to Hogwarts the next day and what house I would be sorted into. Your sons had me convinced that everyone in the family would practically disown me when I was sorted into Hufflepuff. Everyone, myself included, knew that was my destiny. I was okay with being a Hufflepuff. It was where I belonged. I just didn’t want to be treated like some sort of Potter-Weasley reject.” That night you took center stage of my thoughts: How amazing you were and how lucky I was to have known you all these years, and that I knew the real Harry Potter and he was more amazing than Super Auror Harry Potter.”

“Wait a minute. I thought you said you were twelve. The starting age for Hogwarts is---” Harry stopped, appalled at what he’d almost said. How could he have forgotten?

“The starting age for Hogwarts is eleven, not twelve. That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?” Hugo answered Harry unspoken thought. “You’re right, but not for me. Remember, I was held back a year. Everyone thought I was a squib.”

Harry did. Though, they had never discussed it with Harry as Hugo’s united parents, Ron and Hermione had each expressed to him privately their fears that their gentle, but incredibly intuitive child—might in reality be a Squib. There had been no signs of any uncontrollable magic. When his eleventh birthday had come and went without receiving his Hogwarts letter, they knew. They had, with more grace than he probably would have, accepted the reality. Broken hearted, they both prepared to love him and protect him against any who dared to ridicule him.

It was unclear what happened, but one day a few weeks after the rest of the family had left for Hogwarts, Hugo was in his local Comprehensive. Many of the same students he had gone to the local grammar with were among his fellow students. Hermione, a firm believer in the British public school system, had insisted that her children all go to Muggle school.. Besides, she always said, who had time to home school? On that day, Hugo had let loose with such rare and subtle magic that Ron, Hermione and Harry along with one of the Muggle Obliviation Teams were called to Hugo’s school. Expecting to find the entire school having been subjected to massive amounts of magic, they were surprised to find only one young boy crying hysterically, and more importantly, they found Hugo in complete control of what he had unleashed. Hugo’s magic was not uncontrollable; it had just never been used.

It seemed that for some reason, everywhere the other student looked, and everything he heard from others had been repetitions of the same phrase: “Liar, Liar, pants on fire.” His trousers would start to grow really hot, and smoke could be seen pouring from them. Terrified the culprit spent the morning in absolute fear and panic. What made it worse was that he was the only one who ever saw or heard these things. For everyone else, everything appeared as it always had been.

Subtle and exacting, the magic had been very advanced in its nature. Hugo had said later, “I didn’t want to embarrass him, he’s my friend, but it’s not right going around blaming others, especially younger kids, for something you did. People need to learn to take responsibility.”

His Hogwarts letter had arrived the next day, inviting him to start at the beginning of the next year. Sorted into Hufflepuff, as expected, for the next seven years Hugo had taken top honours in just about all of his classes. The only OWL and NEWTS he had not scored O’s in had been Potions. For all the previous teasing about Hufflepuff, Harry had known Ron was beside himself with fatherly pride. 

“You know Harry, even with all the teasing I knew I’d get about Hufflepuff, I always knew it was where I belonged.” Hugo said to Harry. “The Sorting Hat had a devil of a time trying to decide where to put me. I never considered myself exceptionally bright or intelligent. I just have really good instincts and a lot of empathy for what others are feeling, and I can use that, if I wish, to my advantage. I asked it to put me in Hufflepuff. It’s where I belong. Albus told me how you had negotiated with the Sorting Hat not to be put in Slytherin, I figured if you could, why couldn’t I.”

“Hugo, look,” Harry said with empathy after hearing Hugo’s story. He knew what it was like to have met the man who would hold the key to your heart at such an early age. Hadn’t Ron been the same for him? And just because it happened at a young age, didn’t minimize the importance of it. “I really don’t feel comfortable talking about this anymore. My sexual preferences are my personal business, and yours are yours.”

“But you do prefer men.” It wasn’t a question, as much a statement of fact. “I’m not wrong, am I?” Hugo said, returning to the earlier discussion.

Harry turned his head away from Hugo. Watching Hugo’s reaction in the reflection of the serviette dispenser on the table, their eyes meeting, Harry gave a simple yet definitive nod. He then finished drinking the rest of his pint in one long swallow, his attention still focused on Hugo.

In the mirrored surface, Hugo gave a sigh of relief, his gaze watching hungrily, as Harry’s head tilted back and he swallowed. Hugo smiled knowingly and nodded, turning his focus back to the game now well into its fourth quarter, as did Harry. Though, it remained unclear how much attention either of them actually paid to what was happening in the game.

The action on the screen picked up, bringing more excitement to the game. The score moved back and forth as first one team then the other moved ahead. The pace fast and furious, Harry and Hugo, along with most of the crowd, even those not actively watching soon found themselves on their feet, clapping and cheering. When the final buzzer rang, the Bulls had won. Jubilated, Harry swept Hugo up in a hug and placed a hard and fast kiss on Hugo’s lips.

Instantly Hugo returned the kiss, his lips parted and gently sucking on Harry’s upper lip. Harry felt a faint stirring in his groin and in his heart. It had been so long, and Hugo’s mouth against his felt so amazing. He wanted more. But dare he?

Harry pulled back, gazing questioningly at Hugo. Harry then leaned back and placed another kiss, softer and with more honesty than the previous. Harry making sure to keep his lips closed. It wouldn’t do to have Hugo think there was more on offer than Harry felt he could honestly give at this time. This was just a kiss between friends who had enjoyed their time together. Harry feared; that was all it could ever be.

Yet even with that, Hugo moaned low in the back of his throat, his tongue pressed against the seam of Harry’s closed lips, doing his best to pry them apart. Harry’s cock gave a very interested twitch in response, surprising Harry with the intensity of his sudden desire. 

Embarrassed at how fast this was affecting him, Harry jerked away from Hugo. _What was he thinking? Merlin, how could he have?_ Hugo was a child, his nephew. Horrified, Harry hurriedly began to gather up their belongings. 

“It’s getting late. We should be getting you home. You know what your dad said, doesn’t want you staying out too late. It was great watching the game with you, though. We should really do this again someday. Maybe next time you’ll bring a young lady with us, _No_. Harry snapped at himself, _Hugo just admitted he was gay a few minutes ago._ “I mean, maybe you’ve a special mate that would like to join us.” _God, could he please just stop rambling? _

This was the first time Harry had ever allowed himself the opportunity to kiss another man, but Hugo wasn’t, was he? Not really, he was family, and a kid—not a potential partner. But Harry had… _Oh Fuck!_Harry had really liked it. Liked it so much he questioned if he’d be able to willingly stop if it happened again. Doubt and panic moved in and Harry fell back on the seat behind him, before he did something really stupid. Like try to kiss Hugo again.

Hugo’s hand, warm and comforting, on his shoulder brought Harry’s attention back to the here and now. “Harry,” Hugo said his voice low and soothing. The smile and understanding on his face, so similar to, and yet so very different, from his father’s. “It’s okay. You did nothing wrong. I liked it, and I sure as Hades wouldn’t say no to it happening again. I like you Harry, rather a lot, and Dad only said for me to be home before sunrise. It’s only ten, we’ve plenty of time.”

And fuck if Harry’s cock didn’t nearly leap out of his trousers at that. But no--just no. Harry took a long steadying breath and smiled in reply. “I know. But I really think I need to get home. Any more and I just might… I don’t know. I’ve never… I mean, you’re the first…” 

“I’m your first kiss with another man? Oh Uncle Harry, that’s so sad. For you, I mean. Not for me! Wow! That, I mean, wow. To think that you chose me for your first gay experience, even if it’s something as simple as kiss.” Hugo paused, glowing with embarrassment and happiness, “But Harry, why am I the first? Were you afraid people would think less of you? You do know, it’s perfectly acceptable to be gay these days.”

Doing his best to keep his heart from racing after what Hugo had just admitted, he needed to bring things back to reality. He quickly shook his head in the negative. “No, it wasn’t that. I was married. I’d made a vow to be faithful. Keeping that vow meant everything to me. Had to mean everything to me, otherwise what would have been the point of everything I stood for.”

“But you’ve been separated this past year. And I love my Aunt Ginny, but she wasn’t very faithful to you.”

“I know, but you have to understand. I wasn’t interested in being with just anyone. It’s important to me that it’s with someone I really care about. _I wanted it be with your father _ he thought, but chose not to express that sentiment out loud. “I still do.”

A look of happiness spread over Hugo’s face, reminding Harry of the full moon brightening the night sky. His smile as luminescent as any Harry had seen. “And, am I? Am I someone you care about?”

“Of course you are, you’re my---”

“No,” Hugo interrupted abruptly, his expression a cross between irritation and doubt. “For fuck’s sake, don’t say it’s because I’m your nephew. Don’t ruin this moment for me.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.” Harry huffed, but couldn’t help the smile that expanded in him and spread to his face. “I _was_ going to say: You’re extremely important to me. I care very much about you, as a person, as a friend. Now let’s get out of here and get you home.”

“You think you might be interested in doing something together one day? I’m free until the final week of April. I heard you and Mum say you were taking some personal time off as well, to adjust to the divorce being final and all.” Hugo lowered his head examining the cobblestones under his feet as they walked to the best place to Apparate.

“I was told it would be healing.” He shrugged and then smirked brightly at Hugo.

“Who? Who told you it would be healing?” Hugo spluttered. “What’s so healing about it?”

_“Your_ mother, mostly,” Harry said the smirk growing as Hugo began laughing, Harry joining in. “It’s fine though. Spending time with you sounds great. I’ll stop by one day, and we’ll see what trouble we can get up to. What do you say?” Tucking Hugo’s arms in his, he Apparated them onto the Granger-Weasley’s front stoop.

“Uncle Harry, I could have got home on my own.” Hugo laughed.

“I know. I just think it’s the proper thing to do.”

Hugo’s face again lit up reminding Harry of a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve with all the lights blazing. “Merlin, but you’re just so decent,” he said just before he placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Turning him, he placed a soft and lingering kiss on Harry’s lips, one that held the promise of a most interesting future. 

~~~~

Harry arrived home that night, poured a nightcap, and let his thoughts and fantasies run free. Not unexpectedly they went almost immediately to imaginings of another’s hands on him, teasing him unmercifully. Alone in his home, Harry had to settle for it being his own imagination and hands that enveloped his cock. 

What was unexpected though was how rapidly the constant and familiar image of Ron as the owner of those hands had transformed into Hugo. His twilight blue eyes, his bright shining smile and the look of joy on his face whenever he looked at Harry. It all came, uninvited but not unwelcomed, to Harry’s wank fantasy. 

It was Hugo’s face in his vision and Hugo’s name on his lips as Harry spilled into his fist.

And instantly fell into an abyss of disgust and self-recriminations. What the fuck was wrong with him? His best friends’ son, the son of the man Harry had been in love with for over thirty years. This was his children’s favourite cousin, as well as the one who had spent hours playing Barbie dolls and Muggle dress up—complete with make-up, high heels and big floppy hats—with his little girl, when no one else would. _Merlin’s hell Harry what kind of pervert are you? _

Yet, weaving through each of these despairing thoughts was the remembrance of Hugo’s flirting, Hugo’s laughter, and Hugo’s touches, which while brief and subtle, had been in no way unclear. Harry would have had to be _Obliviated _ to not understand what was happening. Hugo was as interested in Harry as Harry was in him, if not more so.

Still, Harry was the adult. It was up to him to be the one to put an end to this, whatever this was. There was no way he could see this working. He would just make sure to stay away from the source of this particular temptation. Weeks often went by without the trio seeing each other. A brief flash of loneliness passed through him, but that was okay. He could do this.

Knowing that sleep would not be coming easy to him that night, Harry got back up and pulled on a pair of loose joggers and a favourite old ragged t-shirt and headed to the back garden. Lowlights lined the court yard to prevent the light from spilling onto his neighbor’s space. Harry retrieved the ball and began his nightly practice.

Some sixty minutes later, physically exhausted, Harry crawled into bed and fell into a fitful sleep. He was immediately beset by constant dreams of one Hugo Granger-Weasley. Some sexual, some completely innocent, but all of them starred the same two people, Harry and Hugo.

The next morning, worn out from all his tossing and turning, not to mention the seemingly never ending erections, Harry couldn’t be bothered showering or even getting dressed beyond a pair of loose fitting joggers--that really could use a good laundering--and the old, frayed and ragged, Cannons T-shirt that he slipped over his head. A gift from Ron, it remained Harry’s absolute favourite. Sure, it might have been magically repaired more than was good for it, but the idea of it no longer existing was unfathomable to Harry.

He poured himself a bowl of Frosties, with some milk, and plopped down in front of the telly, noise to fill up the emptiness. Staring numbly at the screen, he shoveled spoon after spoon into his mouth, his repetitious behaviour broken only by the addition of more Frosties from the box he’d brought into the den with him, when those in his bowl had grown soggy. Adding more and more flakes until all that was left were a few soggy flakes and that last swallow of exceptionally sweet sugar milk. Drinking the last bit directly from the bowl, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sent the empty bowl to the sink with a flick of his wand.

A glance at the clock on the kitchen wall told him that barely an hour had passed since he’d crawled out of bed. He groaned with frustration. Merlin’s balls, he was bored. He wondered what Ron and/or Hermione were up to, and if they would like some company?

No! He told himself emphatically. Not until he could go more than thirty minutes without thinking of Hugo. Until then, he would just stay away. Surely, there was _something_ he could do to pass the time.

By the third day Harry was beside himself with boredom and anxiety. He’d cleaned the house-- the Muggle way-- from top to bottom. Washed and rearranged every dish in the cupboard. Laundered and pressed all the bedding and window treatments. Tilled a small section of the tangled weeds and shrubbery he called a garden, into a real garden. And read three romance novels of the male/male variety--his lifeline to the belief that he too, could one day have a happy love life.

And in between it all, he ate: Whatever he could find, in the cupboard or in the fridge. Terrified that he’d accidentally run into one of the Granger-Weasley’s, he refused to leave the house. His diet during those three days consisted of: finishing two large boxes of Frosties, one of which he’d ended up having to eat dry when he’d run out of milk. A six pack of frozen burritos, two frozen pizzas, several tins of soup, and a jar of Nutella spread on toast.

He’d even consumed an entire treacle tart he’d found hidden in Ginny’s closet during his mad cleaning frenzy. There was no telling how long it had been there, but it had been placed under a stasis charm. _Besides it was treacle tart_ so he’d eaten it. Clearly, his confusion regarding what to do about Hugo had not affected his ability to eat. Most likely Hermione would tell him he was using food to fill up the emptiness in his heart. Well, it didn’t take a genius to know that. It was the _what_ to do about it, that left him clueless. 

On the morning of the fourth day, he woke feeling fat and bloated and absolutely disgusted with what he had become. His house may be clean and sparkling, while he however, looked, and most likely, smelled, like something the Crup had drug in only to drag it back out again because he was too foul even for it.

Unbathed or unshaved, he was beyond disgusting. His hair was matted with unwashed grease, come and lube, along with whatever other substances may have remained on his hands whenever he stuck them through his hair in frustration. Causing it to stick up in ways even he would never have thought possible. Not to mention his beard, that was scruffy and itched like mad.

Yet, even with all of this, he still had not been able to purge Hugo, with his quick smile and bright laughter, out of his thoughts. Judging from the fourteen text messages, six voice mails, three owls and two attempts to fire-call, Hugo had not forgotten Harry either.

Each thwarted contact had Harry thrusting his hands into the waist of his joggers. Wrapped around his cock, or dripping with lube as he breached his hole with one, two, or sometimes even three fingers. Fucking himself on his fingers until he was breathless with need, and all the time wondering what it would be like to have the cock or the fingers of someone other than his own buried deep in him.

After he’d spilled, the scent of his come heavy in the air, depression or disgust, sometimes both would overcome him. He’d again attempt to fill his emptiness with food, or simply fall asleep where he was, still covered with come and lube. 

His illogical, and lust filled, brain told him, that if he wanked enough, surely his inappropriate feelings for Hugo would be released. It would then be safe to see him again. Try, though he had, that never happened. He thought of Hugo constantly, from when he woke in the morning to when he closed his eyes at night.

At last, Harry gave up trying to resist. He wanted to see Hugo, spend time with Hugo, and get to know him. What happened after that—well he had no idea. But, he was going to take it slow—at least that was the plan.

And enough was enough; an extra-long shower, a visit to a salon for a shave and haircut—maybe even with some style to it, would have him feeling much better. After that he was going to sit still long enough for a manicure—after all the digging and weeding in the garden—he needed it. Return home and get dressed in some of the stylish clothing his kids kept buying for him. Then he was going to put on his “big boy pants” as the saying went, and make his way over to Ron and Hermione’s. And hope like hell, that Hugo, the young man he could not get out of his mind, was at home.


	4. Chapter 4

Once he’d Apparated over, Harry knocked on the front door. His heart giving its familiar lurch when Ron answered the door, then almost jumping out of his chest with excitement when Hugo stuck his head around the corner and grinned in Harry’s direction. A lift of his index finger indicated for Harry to stay where he was, he’d be right back. Prepared to wait as long as needed, Harry nodded and smile at Hugo’s retreating back.

“Hey Ron, how’s it going? Didn’t expect you to be home.” For reasons he couldn’t explain, Harry was nervous as hell about being here—for Hugo, and not either his two best mates.

Ron looked at him, a bit bewildered. “Then why are you here?”

“Well, actually, I’m here to see Hugo. We learned the other night that neither of us have anything going on, so we sort of –erm, made plans to—erm. You know, maybe hang out,” Harry stammered. That was a bald face lie. There were no “plans”, there had only been a maybe. 

“Did he know you were coming by today?” Ron questioned. “I mean the reason I’m asking is he’s done nothing, but lounge around in those bloody shorts all day. And eat. Hagrid’s hairy balls, he’s eaten everything in sight. Come to think of it, that’s all he’s been doing from the past three days.” Ron frowned, seemingly more perplexed than sad though. 

“Either that or looking mournfully at those bloody basketball games, and his phone. I tell you, Harry, I think he’s got a crush on someone, maybe one of those players. Remember when I had that crush on Viktor.” Ron laughed softly. “I was such a fool.” 

Ron turned and started out of the room. “You know, just now, when he saw you, was the first time I’ve seen him smile in the past three days.” Ron stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, his expression questioning, as if there was something that he should be able to put together, but hadn’t quite managed it. “You want a cup of tea, or something?” 

Harry shook his head at the offer. “No thanks” He had sent Hugo a brief owlet that he hoped Hugo had received and understood. _Tmr-11a-Yrs, hp _ Hugo had not sent a reply, so maybe he hadn’t. Harry shrugged. “I sent him a message. I assume he got it.” 

Harry turned his head at an expected sound. Hugo came tripping excitedly down the stairs; dressed and showered, looking fresh and young and absolutely irresistible. Harry’s heart skipped a few beats as Hugo approached him, giving him a warm embrace. Perfectly innocent, except for the barely there caress on the back of Harry’s neck. Harry barely stopping the shiver of delight that cruised through him, as Ron stood next to them, quietly watching. 

“Hugo, hey, I’m glad to see you got my message.”

“And understood it you mean?” Hugo said with raised eyebrows. “It was, shall we say, a bit cryptic.” 

Harry shrugged with a grin. “I thought maybe we could go to lunch, if you’d like?” 

Ron immediately began acting as if he expected to be included in the plans. Instead, both Harry and Hugo, in silent accord with one another, hurried out the door, pretending they hadn’t noticed. 

Side by side, with an occasional brushing of shoulders and arms, they walked down the street. The Granger-Weasleys lived in a fashionable wizarding neighbourhood in Camden Town. Close enough to the Ministry to walk on a nice day, but far enough away to just as easily be completely forgotten. Cobblestoned sidewalks, iron gates and brick walls kept most of the houses hidden from public view. The neighbourhood though prestigious, still felt warm and homey. 

Nearing the commercial areas, they passed more and more street vendors and performers. Another warm and sunny day, they stopped along the way to watch a juggler with a large number of plates. Tossing and spinning and twirling, he kept them all under his control to the enthusiastic delight of those watching. Further down the street they passed a young barely-in-her-teens girl play the fiddle —quite well, too—while many in the crowd danced and clapped along. Hugo, to Harry’s surprise, stopped to enjoy the performance as well. 

The music was contagious and even Harry found his foot taping in time to the rhythm. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hugo watching, as if appraising him. Before he knew what was happening, Hugo had grabbed him by the hands and shoulders and began to twirl him around in some sort of complicated square dance and polka combination. 

Soon another musician joined her and together they drew an even larger crowd. Other couples and whole families joined in, all of them caught up in the spell of music and sunshine and laughter—but much of their focus and the smiles on their faces were directed at Harry and Hugo. Especially Hugo, as his youth and vibrancy called out to each of them. Laughing breathlessly, Harry stopped and leaning forward his hands on his knees, and rested. 

Harry, still breathing hard, turned and beamed at Hugo, who laughing, grinned right back at him. His joy spreading through him, Harry stepped forward and leaned against Hugo, still laughing still smiling. Hugo’s arms slipped around Harry’s waist, as if they belonged there. Together, in stillness they remained as they were nothing more nothing less. After a while, Harry looked up to notice a large number of those standing with them, smiled softly at the two of them. 

Embarrassed by the attention, he attempted to step away, but Hugo was reluctant to let him go. Still standing side by side close enough to touch without effort they quietened along with the others and turned to fully appreciate the musicians’ talents.

A tap on his arm caught his attention. A young man, with a head full of braids that hung over his shoulders and down his back, handed him a rolled parchment. 

“Here,” he said his face lit by a gentle smile, “this is for you. I’ve been watching the two of you, utterly bewitched by your joy in one another. So clearly smitten that my muse insisted I simply had to sketch the two of you. It’s a bit rough, I know, but I believe it captures the moment.” 

Hugo’s arm still tucked inside his elbow, Harry tentatively took the parchment and unrolled it. Speechless, he stared, thrilled by what he held in his hands. The young artist clearly had a talent for capturing the emotional essence of his subject matter. 

The quick sketch showed them standing side by side. Each looking in a different direction from the other, but everything about them, indicated they were turning to look back at the other. The sense of motion in the quick sketch was almost magical, as if it were a wizarding portrait. Only they, and it, remained motionless. Both so attuned to the other, it only appeared that way. 

Smiles lit up each of their faces. His own was perhaps a bit softer, more patient--comfortable with just enjoying the moment. While Hugo’s smile was bigger, brighter, more boisterous—ready for whatever was coming next. Yet, in his eyes could be seen both the wanting, and the briefest, blink and you’d miss it, hint of insecurity, a questioning: Could this really be what he thought it was; what he wanted it to be? 

Seeing that doubt, and understanding it for what it was, Harry wanted to take him in his arms, and assure Hugo that he too, shared that same feeling of uncertainty. But that what he did know, without question, was: that in that moment—he was happy—so very, very happy. 

He turned towards Hugo and was rewarded by the sparkle of Hugo’s eyes as he gazed with delight at the parchment. 

“This is very kind of you. It’s absolutely wonderful. How much do you want for it?” Harry asked as he continued to take in the amazingly detailed sketch. The artist had used a variety of coloured pencils to bring out the coppery colour of Hugo’s hair, and that specific blue of Hugo’s eyes that always made Harry think of that shade of evening blue found in the paintings of Maxfield Parrish. He had no idea what the colour was called; he only knew it made him feel a fluttering inside that told him he was happy. Not to mention the broadness of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips, and that arse. Harry had no idea how he had missed it before but Hugo’s arse was amazing. 

Harry couldn’t wait to purchase the perfect frame and find just the right place to hang it in his house. He was already beginning to plan the best place to show it off. Or maybe he might prefer it to be in his more private quarters. He couldn’t quite make up his mind. 

He pulled out his wallet and handed him a twenty pound note, wondering if that was enough. Hugo still stared delightedly at the portrait of the two of them. “My god, Harry, look at the way those colours bring out the brightness of your eyes. They’re practically gleaming,” Hugo said softly. He turned to the young man. “I want to contribute too. There’s a bank machine just around the corner. I can run get some cash. Are you okay to wait? I mean this is just incredible.” 

Hugo had just turned to head down the street to the bank machine when Harry had a thought. “Umm, I don’t suppose you have another one of us, not that same one of course, but maybe an earlier one you might have made. I’m sure we’d each love to have one of our own.” 

“I’m happy to do as many as you’d like, and for you Harry Potter, there’s no charge, but if you’d like to contribute to a struggling artist…” He shrugged. “Give what you can. Just seeing the two of you was almost payment enough.” The young man smiled again. Something about that smile tugged at Harry’s memories. 

His name coming unexpectedly from an unknown Muggle had Harry on edge. “How do you know my name?” He snapped, moving away from the young man. 

Oblivious to the sudden tension in Harry’s voice, Hugo continued, nodding enthusiastically next to him, “As long as it shows his eyes up as well as this one does. And also, look at how fit this one makes you look. Who’d know that you’re old enough to have three children, all of them having finished their schooling?” He grinned at Harry’s annoyed frown.

“And just look at that smile, Unc-”he started then stopped, “Harry. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen photos of you looking this happy.” Hugo stammered, leaving the “uncle” part off. For some inexplicable reason this thrilled Harry. 

The young man laughed softly and in that gentle laughter, Harry was suddenly transported back to Hogwarts and Gryffindor Tower. A quiet young man with dark skin, a soft and gentle smile, with an ingenious sense of humour, and always found with a pencil, or quill or stick of charcoal in his hand ready to draw whatever caught his attention. 

“Dean! You’re related to Dean Thomas!” Harry cried out. 

“There are sketches and portraits of you and other friends of my dad’s from Hogwarts all over the house. Dean Thomas is my father. He said you saved him, saved them all. I’m Dylan. I’m his oldest son.And I’d be willing to bet; you’re Ron and Hermione’s son. Am I right?” he said turning to Hugo. 

Like many others, Harry had lost contact with Dean over the years. What had happened to him after the final battle, Harry didn’t know. So caught up in the walk in the Forbidden Forest and the final battle with Voldemort, Harry had paid little attention to anything else. A wrench in his gut at how he had failed so many of his friends, both then and now, Harry began apologising. 

“Not your fault. Dad moved to Canada not long after the war. He finished up his schooling at Ilvermorny. He’ll be thrilled when I tell him about this.” 

Once they had made the plans to meet Dylan the next day; they said goodbye. Hugo’s stomach made a disturbing noise and they both laughed out loud. “I’m starving. Can we get something to eat?” He turned and immediately started across the street, almost being clipped by a lorry as it screeched past, Harry grabbing him by the arm just in time. 

Famished, but each of them felt something of a celebration should be in order. This was a day of new adventures and that needed to include restaurants as well. Ultimately they came to a halt in front of a Japanese restaurant, a cuisine neither of them knew a great deal about, except for the Marks and Spencer’s sushi counter.

Entering it excitedly, they ordered a Bento box, each: one salmon, one yellowfin tuna, along with a couple of bottles of _Kirin Iciban._

“So tell me about your time in the city, New York I mean. We’ve not had much time to talk about it. Did you enjoy it? Did you learn a lot? What’s the city like? You know, we were supposed to take the kids on holiday their one year, but Lily came down with a very serious case of dragon pox—so we had to cancel. Everyone was so disappointed.” 

Across the table from him, Hugo sipped slowly at his own beer and nodded.

“Oh, yes. I guess you remember that.” Hugo had been Lily’s constant friend and companion during her sickness, having had it himself the previous year. Two trays of highly polished wood were placed in front of the two of them, and Hugo’s face brightened with delight, momentarily reminding Harry again of Ron. The trays were divided into sections, each section perfectly sized to hold the particular food item it was meant to hold. They dived into their food and the conversation stopped. 

Their lunch finished they strolled randomly through the neighbourhood, going first down one street, turning at whatever point felt right. At some point in their strolling Hugo’s hand found its way into Harry’s, and Harry’s heart beat at twice its normal speed. He couldn’t remember when he last felt so exhilarated and simply… happy. He could walk around holding Hugo’s hand for hours and not feel the need to speak. 

They found themselves in Regent’s Part near the entrance of the zoo. As they’d drawn closer they began to hear the roar of the lions, the trumpeting of the elephants and the constant chattering of the monkeys. Harry found himself telling Hugo of his own adventures as a young child at this same zoo. It had been the first time he had realised he could hold conversations, both the talking and the hearing, with snakes.

“Can you still?” Hugo asked. “I’ve never heard anything about you having this talent.” 

“No, I lost it once Voldemort was gone. It was one of the unusual connections I had with him. How about you? Do you have any zoo adventures to report?” 

“Gramps Granger and I used to talk about coming, but Mum was so adamant against the idea. She couldn’t stand the idea of any creatures being locked up. Thought they should be free to roam in the home environments.” 

Harry couldn’t help but nod, aware of Hermione’s overactive activism concerning S.P.E.W. in their second year, then caught on to exactly what Hugo was saying. “So, you’ve actually never been? We’ll need to try and make sure we get you there over the next few days.” Harry said, smiling at Hugo’s delighted grin.

“I’ve seen the animals on telly, but never seen any of them in person. Gramps used to talk a lot about the Orangutans. They were his favourites. We’d watch all the Animal Planet shows about them, and the Giant Gorillas.” Hugo laughed softly. “He loved the giant apes, used to say they acted more human like than most humans did.”

He turned towards Harry, with a soft yet pensive expression. “He would have liked you. Probably more than Dad, if it hadn’t been for that unfortunate incident with Australia and the mind-wipe mum performed in that final year. I think he missed Mum’s regular English upbringing. She embraced her wizarding side, a bit too much for his liking.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It had often been suggested that he and Hermione would have made the better pairing, a thought that frankly terrified him beyond belief. He loved her, but good God; he couldn’t imagine anything worse than being her romantic partner. Now, if someone would have suggested him and Ron---he would have been all over that. Then, but not now. 

The sun already low in the sky, they decided to call it a day, Harry once again insisting on making sure Hugo got to his front door safely.

“Harry, you do realise I’m an adult. I’m 22 years old. I manage to make it home on my own all the time.”

“I know. Maybe I wasn’t ready to say good-bye just yet.” 

“You know, you could come in to dinner. I know Mum and Dad would love to have you. You’re always welcomed by everyone,” Hugo said in reply. 

Although Harry knew it was true, he still declined. As he was saying no, though, his concentration was focused on Hugo’s lips, wondering if they would feel and taste as soft as they looked. Wanting to test his hunch, he leaned in; Hugo also moving towards Harry. Their lips were only millimetres apart. Their first kiss as something maybe a bit more involved than just friends was just on the verge.

The front door swung open. “Harry, Hugo what are you two doing out here? Come inside. Dinner’s almost ready. Your mum made her famous tuna noodle surprise. Yumm, right?” Grim faced he nodded and beckoned them inside, while they both grimaced in response. 

While Hermione might be brilliant at everything else she attempted; cooking was not one of them. Her tuna noodle casserole was one of the worst. 

“No thanks, Ron I need to be getting home. But I appreciate the invitation; give her my love; tell her we’ll talk soon.” 

From beside him Hugo whispered a soft, “chicken”. Then smiling at Harry, he followed his dad into the house. Harry remained on the stoop a few seconds longer softly laughing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this chapter. With the holidays and all, it just wouldn't come together. It is, also, much shorter than the others. It does however, start to heat things up a bit between our two main characters. I do hope you enjoy the extra spice. It gets even spicier in the remaining chapters.
> 
> I still suck at proper tagging.
> 
> I can be found on tumblr, under the name emansil, but I'm extremely clueless as to how that works, but feel free to stop and say hi. Thanks for sticking with me on this so far.

Part 5:

They spent many hours together over the rest of that week and into the next. Hugo showed him parts of London, both magical and muggle, Harry had never known existed. They visited museums, and art galleries, often stopping by the _The Mug and Pie_ and other pubs at the end of the day. This fairy tale life would soon be ending and they’d return to their regular lives; spending time together now seemed the thing to do. Harry loved these excursions and the time they spent together, never wanting it to end. 

With each outing though, it became harder and harder for them to say goodbye at the end of the night. Each good night kiss was more difficult to end with just that. Harry was nervous about the age difference and his own lack of experience, while Hugo, Harry felt, wanted only to give Harry time, to not push him too fast. 

Yet, every night when Harry returned to his silent and empty front hall, except for Aunt Wallburga still screaming obscenities—that had become like so much white noise to him over the years—he wished he’d been more Gryffindorish and had simply pulled Hugo towards him and kissed the breath out of him. But he never did. 

Instead, he would lie for hours in bed, remembering the day they had spent together and wondering if he was crazy in thinking in might one day go beyond friendship to a more physical relationship. Quite frequently, while having those thoughts with his imagination leading his hands, he would explore his body in all the ways he hoped Hugo might one day discover it. Afterwards, still breathing heavily, he would wait for his breath to return to normal and tell himself that the next day would be different. He would take the initiative, and invite Hugo home with him. 

~~~~

“What are the plans for today?” Hugo asked when Harry arrived just after breakfast. He’d owled Hugo the night before, telling him to be sure and be ready. Hugo answered the door clad in black jeans and a snug fitting aqua green t-shirt which did amazing things to his freckles and those heavenly blue eyes. Harry wasn’t sure how he’d got so lucky to have Hugo want to spend time with him, but he wasn’t going to tempt fate by questioning it too much.

“How about that visit to the zoo, we talked about? Are you up for that?” 

Hugo’s answering smile was bright and beautiful. “Fuck, yes. That’s sounds great.” Let me get some money.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Harry said as Hugo turned towards his bedroom. “I know you still don’t have any extra cash. But if you’d like, you can pick up the tab for any food we eat. Or we can go Dutch, each paying our own way. Are you okay with that?” 

“I can do that,” Hugo said as he went to get his wallet.

Strolling hand in hand down Camden High Street, they headed towards the north entrance of Regent’s Park, and the zoo. A steady breeze was blowing and there were some rain clouds gathering. Wisely, Harry had grabbed an umbrella from the stand as he left and shrunk it down to fit inside his pocket. 

Along the way Hugo told Harry about the long fire-call conversation the family had had with Rose the night before. The expedition that she, along with Luna and Rolf, were involved with had given them many unusual plants and herbs that were looking to be very promising for the residents of the Janus Thickey Wards. 

After laughing at some of the stories Rose had shared with Hugo of her time spent with Luna, Harry shared a few of his own. The one of Harry and Hugo’s parents having discovered Luna’s private art gallery of all of her friends from Hogwarts hanging all around her bedroom, brought such a look compassion and understanding to Hugo’s expression. Harry could barely contain the feelings of joy, want and gratitude that spread through him, sharing with Hugo had much it had pleased him to know that he had been included in the group. 

Growing nearer the park entrance, Harry began to notice there was a lot more activity than usual. Food vendors of many different tastes and varieties were lined up and down the street, as well as along the sidewalks. The streets, closed to all traffic and pedestrian only, gave the browsers the opportunity to go from one to the other, purchasing samples from both sides. 

Everything smelled incredible. Harry’s mouth immediately started to water. True, he may have just eaten an hour or so earlier, but suddenly Harry found he was starving. He looked over at Hugo who also appeared to be sniffing the air around them and all but moaning his interest. 

They both stopped. “Oh my Merlin, can you smell all that?” Hugo said. “It smells fantastic.” He looked over at Harry as if questioning if he knew what was happening. 

Harry shrugged in reply, he hadn’t a clue. 

“What’s going on?” Harry shrugged in reply; he hadn’t a clue. 

Hugo looked around, scowling in thought for a moment. “Wait, now I think there was something on social media about some sort of food truck and street vendor competition. Only the very best were invited to participate, you get to try a lot of different samples then you vote on which ones you liked best.” Hugo fished his phone out of his pocket. “Hold on let me get the details.”

Harry smiled unable to believe how quickly this generation of wizards had embraced Muggle tech and the social aspects of it. Hugo’s involvement had come when he’d returned from New York and wanted to keep with the friends he’d made there. As well as using it to keep up with the scores and the stats of his favourite NBA teams. 

Hugo scrolled through his phone. “Yep, I was right. There’s going to be up to fifty street vendors here, offering food from all over the world. Wow, that sounds wonderful. Hey we can buy a group of tickets and use them to get samples from all over. The more tickets you buy, the lower the price per ticket. Just think of all the different things we can try.” He looked over a Harry, excitement and hunger growing on his face. “Dad’s going to be so jealous when he finds out he missed this.” He said gleefully. “He loves stuff like this. Any opportunity to stuff his face is going to have his seal of approval.” 

“Hugo, you know we can’t possibly sample something from each of them,” Harry said. Then laughed as he looked over at Hugo who looked like a whole buffet had been set before him, but had just been told, he could only eat from one side of only one table. Remembering the amount of food he’d seen Hugo put down on their previous outings, he shrugged. “Okay, maybe you can, but I’m afraid I’m going to need to pass.” 

“Are you kidding me, Harry? Have you seen yourself eat? You could give my dad a run for his money.” 

“Okay, maybe I can, but I’m not going to.” Harry again laughed, purposely pushing out his stomach, so it resembled Ron’s after a meal at the Burrow. “Remember I’m single again. I need to keep my boyish figure.” 

Hugo rolled his eyes. “Yes because clearly you’re in danger of that happening.” His gaze going from Harry’s shoulder down his waist and his legs, walking around Harry, Hugo sighed as he stopped behind Harry, his attention focused on Harry’s bum. “Clearly, you need to start a health regimen. Your arse is only the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. You don’t want to lose that.” 

Harry felt the heat rising to his face; Hugo grinned flirtatiously, his gaze going from Harry’s bum to his face and back to his bum. 

~~~~

Over the next hours, Harry and Hugo wandered from food truck to food booth, sampling the different options available to them. Some they shared; others they vehemently and laughingly stayed away from. Hugo it seemed was especially fond of things that were wet and messy and had a tendency to drip: down his chin, his arms and all over his hands. Those were the ones he insisted on sharing with Harry, holding them out for Harry take bites out of, leaving Harry a dripping mess. 

Hugo disdained the use of napkins or wet wipes, instead his favourite way of cleaning Harry was to pull him close and lick the sauce off his chin, followed by kissing the corners of Harry’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, Finishing it all off with a kiss that left Harry standing there with a stupid grin on his face. Each sweep of Hugo’s tongue across Harry’s mouth, each kiss deeper and more intense, until Harry was breathing hard and more aroused than he should be in a public place. 

More, fuck, but Harry wanted more. 

As if reading his mind, and without any warning, Hugo unexpectedly, Hugo grabbed him and dragged him around the corner of the warehouse the last food truck set in front of. 

Pushed up against wall Hugo’s tongue pushed in, sweeping and exploring. Pulling away Hugo’s mouth now latched on to Harry’s neck, his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin there. Harry’s mind, barely still functioning, he pulled his wand and cast the strongest disillusion spell he knew. 

Lightening quick, their hands began unbuttoning and unzipping trousers and jeans. Harry almost lost his mind when Hugo’s hand still wet and sticky from the different samplings gripped Harry’s cock then and there in the middle of Regent’s Park. “Fuck!” Harry groaned out loud, hoping his spell would hold.

“Harry, fuck. Gods, please Harry touch me.”

Taken aback, that he needed to be asked, Harry wrapped his fingers and hands around Hugo’s cock and tugged. Hugo’s moan of pleasure was loud and wonderful in Harry’s ear. Together, their faces tucked in the space between head and shoulder of the other, lipping, biting and sucking at the skin there, each of them pulling and tugging the other’s cock, wanking the other in a street full of pedestrians: geriatric and toddler, middle aged business men and market shopping housewives, and children of all ages running all around them, they brought each other to a climax they never had had and would never have the like of again.

Not trusting the other to be able to hold them up, they each leaned against the wall behind them and slid to the pavement below. Hot and gritty with broken pieces of asphalt and concrete, dead bugs and pigeon droppings, but neither of them cared. Turning they grinned stupidly at each other then moved together, the kiss slow and deep, they again thoroughly explored the other. 

“If we’re going to make it to the zoo before it closes we should probably go soon,” Harry said. As they stood, Harry removed the disillusionment spell and in the process scared the absolute fuck out of an old aged pensioner who had one hand down his own trousers, tossing off. 

Blinking in confusion, the old man looked at them too, and then their flirting and laughing faces. He nodded and wished hem a good day while he continued on with the business at hand, or rather in hand Harry thought, snickering to himself. 

Slowly and with great dignity, they headed towards the park entrance, but the situation they had just witnessed became too much for them. Finally laughing fast and loose, and hand in hand they ran to the zoo. 

When at last they arrived at the zoo, they were both disappointed when they learned that it had been prearranged for the zoo to be closed during the street vendor competition. It had been thought that the extra noise and excitement and all the different smells might overstress the animals. They were expected to open the next day at regular time, once the street fair had cleared out. 

Disappointed they returned home, making plans to try again another day. Upon arriving home, Harry spent a long time in his back garden, thinking of Hugo as he practiced his free throws. Once he’d crawled into bed, his imagination and exploring fingers, again took over his thoughts and feelings before sleep finally claimed him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, things heat up even more between our two guys. Hope you enjoy it. I'm pretty sure they did. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere apologies for being so late with this chapter. It's been some kind of month, and not a good one. Hopefully I can get back to regular posting of this story. Though, the final chapter is still give me some grief in turning out the way I want it to be.

Chapter 6 

When he’d arrived at Hugo’s house late that morning, the two of them had ended up walking hand in hand through Regent’s Park, Harry feeling a sense of ease with Hugo, he seldom felt with others. Hugo smiled at him frequently, Harry’s own smile growing on his face with each passing step.

Roaming the different pathways available, they came across an asphalt court with basketball goals at each end. A group of people of all ages, sex and ethnicities stood on the sidelines, as well as actively participating in the game. One of the things Harry loved about living in the city was the wide range of peoples from all parts of the world that lived, loved and co-existed together. It made him feel an even stronger sense of connection to all peoples, both Muggle and Magical. 

The present group ranging in age from late teens to mid-thirties was enthusiastically enjoying what looked to be a spontaneous game of basketball. 

As they joined the gathered crowd, Harry began talking. “After Ginny had left me and the kids were all spread out doing their own thing, the lowliness and emptiness of the house started to become almost unbearable.” Hugo remained quiet beside him. 

“Unable to sleep, I started staying up later and later, flipping through the channels, searching for anything of interest to keep me from going insane. Late one evening I came across an NBA game, and I started watching. After a while I started thinking it was something I might like to try myself. It looked like fun, and a bit of a challenge and more importantly, it was something I could do alone—at least practicing the shots.” 

Harry stopped his story while they and the others spontaneously cheered a killer block they had just witnessed, the defensive player having reached heights that should have been impossible given her relatively short stature. “Way to go Uduru!” the others yelled, and they joined as well. 

Once the smiles and murmuring had ended, Harry continued. “I expanded the back garden, went to a Muggle sporting goods store and purchased one of those mobile basketball goals for home use. Instead of moping about and feeling sorry for myself, I started spending my evenings throwing the ball at the basket. At first I was horrible. I mean unbelievably bad.” He laughed. “It’s a lot harder than it looks.” Hugo chuckled softly as if he knew what Harry was talking about. 

“Eventually, I got better, hitting more baskets than I missed.” Harry smirked at Hugo. “I added dribbling and manouvering around the court to my practice times. I loved that part. At the end of an evening’s practice I’d be hot and sweaty and exhausted, but pleasantly so. Finally, I was able to sleep again, and my love of life back as well. Basketball, you might say, in a way saved my life.”

The small crowd standing on the sidelines clapped and cheered, occasionally jovially calling out trash talk to those on the court, Harry and Hugo joining in companionably. They soon noticed that the players on the court appeared to come and go at will; a fluidity that kept the game always in action. Whenever a player had to leave, another from the sidelines would be asked to replace them. 

Hugo was asked almost immediately to join, his height and youth a recognisable bonus. Harry’s invitation was a bit longer in coming, the grey shots in his black hair possibly a deterrent to being asked, but he didn’t mind. Once he got on the court, he knew he’d be able to hold his own. They each accepted eagerly. 

As the oldest one on the court, Harry expected some light teasing, and he was right. Suffering through the usual snide comments about his advanced age and how it must be difficult for him to keep up along with offers of obtaining a walker for him. All in all it was light-hearted teasing, and he rather enjoyed it. The nights of practicing ball control with Percy’s wife, Penelope had made him a formidable player. 

As Harry skillfully manouvered around the court avoiding the other players attempts to steal the ball, he constantly looked for an opening. His laser focused sight that made seeing and following the Snitch serving him equally well in this Muggle sport. He soon noticed Hugo slack-jawed and staring as Harry wove through the other players. Smiling internally, Harry quickly lined up his shot and let fly, adding three points to his team’s total. 

Hugo glared at Harry and whispered a silent, but understandable message: “Alright Harry, I see you, I got you. Game on,” as they pushed past each other. Harry just shrugged and smirked in return with his own silent. “Bring it.” Harry might not be strong or large enough to work the inside, but his ball control and shots from the outside, were dangerously good. 

The unusually hot weather had not lessened and the majority of the male players had shed their shirts, Harry took several deep breaths in appreciation of all those hard young bodies on display. He and Hugo soon too were sweating from the effects of the sun reflected off the hot asphalt. Hugo removed his shirt almost immediately lifting it up and over his head. Then bunched it up and wiped the sweat from his face, neck and chest. Including the ginger curls that trailed down the center to disappear under the waist of low riding cargo shorts. His pale and freckled skin, even more obvious the deep rich browns and golden skin tones of the other players. 

Harry hardened in an instant. Merlin, help him; he wanted to lick every drop of sweat from Hugo’s skin, starting at neck and working his way down: his shoulders, his chest, his underarms, feeling the coarse ginger hair under Hugo’s arms against his tongue and tasting the sweat. . He couldn’t remember ever wanting another person the way he wanted Hugo in that moment. 

The other players, as well, noticed the pale skin on display. Laughing and smiling, they showed their appreciation of his physique, congratulating him on his shots, they flirted outrageously with him. Harry’s chest monster roared to the forefront of Harry’s awareness in response. It had been a while since Harry had felt its presence. It was good to know it was still part of him, that he could still have feelings and desires that strong. Harry couldn’t blame their interest. Hugo was fit: of that there was no doubt. But, he was there with Harry, not the other guys. They needed to back the fuck away; Harry scowled at them, hoping they understood the message he was sending.

An unexpected _thump_ and jolt of discomfort of the ball slamming against his shoulder, along with the groans of dismay for his teammates brought him back to where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Embarrassed at how lost he’d got in his thought of Hugo and what he wanted to do to him and with him, Harry felt his face heating up. 

Soon, Harry too was sweltering in the long sleeve cotton jersey he’d chosen to wear. Ginny had once told him, he looked completely shag-able in it, a concept that sounded perfect for a day with Hugo. He too, tossed his jersey on the ground next to Hugo’s. 

Older than the others by several years, but his years of Auror training as well his own regular workouts, and the many nights in the back garden had kept him in good physical condition. Thankfully, the others had coast their own appreciative gazes on him as well. Especially one young man that reminded Harry of the Patel twins with smooth thick black hair, and not a bird’s nest like Harry’s, deep soulful brown eyes, a dazzling smile and a laugh that was musical to the ear. 

Harry guessed him to be about Teddy’s age, his early thirties. Logically, a much better and more age appropriate choice for Harry, but it didn’t matter. Harry was completely enamored of Hugo. There was no one else for him, and he knew it. 

Embarrassed by the attention he was getting from the others, Harry glanced at Hugo, glad for recognizable friend. As he did, Hugo shot a definite death glare at the young man with the musical laughter, not to mention the glares of annoyance he kept directing at the other players that were currently eyeing Harry. Pride and embarrassment surged in Harry. Hugo was gorgeous and fit and infinitely desirable, and he was jealous. Over him, over Harry! 

The feeling was multiplied when that same young man moved over to Harry, and placed his hand near Harry’s back. Talking and lightly teasing, he flirted with Harry, all while they were each guarding the other. Before the ball had even been put into play, Hugo was beside the, and all but growling. “Get your bloody hands off him. He doesn’t need you touching all over him.” The strength of his frown almost a physical force, Hugo’s own chest monster taking power over him in that moment. Harry knew it was wrong, but it had been so long that he’d inspired such strong feelings in another. 

The other man chuckled, and shrugged. “You can’t blame me for trying. He’s hot, seriously hot.” 

On opposing teams, the competition between the two of them was fierce. Hugo was a child of his parents, both strongly driven to win. However, when it was all over, Harry’s team had won 39-36. Many of his sides thirty-six points had come from Hugo driving inside for the lay-ups, much stronger and more aggressive in his playing then Harry had expected. Harry’s own shots from the outside had been the main contribution to the final three point advantage. 

Happier and more confident than he had been in years, Harry too had had contributed to his team’s final score. Harry began to playfully strut around the court, hands clenched together in a fist; he lifted it over his head, as if he’d just won the game single-handedly. The others booed and threw their sweat damp shirts and towels at him, behaving the way players the world over did in any sporting contest. 

Harry was having the time of his life, but poor Hugo seemed to have taken all the annoying teasing from Harry he could handle. A light bubble of glee escaped Hugo’s lips and laughing, he ran over tackling Harry to the ground. Scuffling playfully they rolled around on the ground and pavement, until Harry found himself flat on his back, with Hugo over him and straddling his hips. Both stilled, smiling into each other’s eyes. Their erections hardening in the stillness, Hugo leaned down and kissed Harry hard and fast. 

Cheered on by the jeers and applause of the others, Hugo kissed him again. This time the kiss lingered. Hugo’s tongue pressing forward, requested entrance. Harry’s cock responded eagerly pressing up against Hugo’s answering hardness. Grounding down against him, Hugo caught Harry’s moan with his mouth in another kiss. The cheering and laughing from the side-lines had now changed to more sighs and moaning, and a few subtle adjustments of their own joggers. 

_Fuck_, this was all happening too fast, and in a place far too public. Harry needed, wanted more privacy. Overwhelmed, Harry pushed Hugo off him; jumping up, Harry moved to the other side, all but running away. His face and chest burning with humiliation, he slipped his shirt back over his head. 

As Harry worked to calm his obvious desire, the other players gathered up their belongings. Walking away they grinned and did their best to hold back their laugher at his compromising position, leaving Harry and Hugo on their own. Harry turned to look at Hugo, who was still sitting on the ground. His knees bent up, feet flat on the ground, and his elbows resting on his knees. He shook his head at Harry, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with him.

Admittedly, Harry felt a bit of a tosser for all but running away, only it _was_the middle of the day, in the middle of bloody Regent’s Park, surrounded by families with young children. And Harry was embarrassingly hard. The tactile sensation of Hugo’s answering hardness against his, its length and its girth, and Harry had wanted only, to feel it in his hand, in his mouth, or even just pressed against his own, flesh to flesh. 

Harry had loved and wanted Ron, but never this hard and this fast. It was a zap to his entire central nervous system. God, but he wanted Hugo. It was almost painful.

In silence they stared across the asphalt court at the other. Hugo rose to his feet and strode decisively across the asphalt towards Harry. Once he’d reached him, Hugo looked carefully around. Confirming there was no danger of them being seen, he hooked his arm in Harry’s, and without a blink or pause Hugo Disapparated them away. They landed directly on Harry’s front stoop. 

Hidden away from his neighbors by the _Fidelius Charm_, Harry quickly unlocked the door. Falling inside together, Hugo had him pressed against the wall before the door had finished closing; his mouth covering Harry’s, his tongue pushing inside, seeking and exploring. 

Enjoying Hugo’s more assertive behaviour, Harry remained passive, for a few brief moments. He had wanted this. This freedom to enjoy in privacy the feel of another man’s hands on him and his on them with no fear of interruption. Able to engage in the activities he wanted without fear of discovery. He might not be the one in control, but at least he could share equally in what was happening. 

He pushed at Hugo, flipping their positions. This time it was Harry who had Hugo against the wall. Wanting, needing, desperate to touch and see even more of Hugo’s skin, Harry slipped his hands under Hugo’s shirt, pushing at the bottom of it, until it bunched around his neck and shoulders, leaving his stomach and chest free and bare. 

Harry’s hands roamed over Hugo, exploring at will all that bare skin, Harry’s nails catching on the rigid and pebbled nipples. Hugo’s responding moans a delicious noise in Harry’s ears. Bending his head, Harry latched his mouth onto the turgid flesh, causing even more incredible sounds and nonsensical words to flow without pause from Hugo. Moving between the two, Harry paid equal tribute to each hardened nub. 

Hands, the same hands that had only moments before held a basketball in their palms, its fingers long and knobby; fingertips thick with callouses, pawed at Harry, pushing him away. Understanding Hugo’s silent, but desperate plea, Harry took a step back; just far enough for Hugo to tear his shirt over his head and let it drop to the ground. Harry’s own jersey followed, hitting the pavement immediately after. 

Harry stood and stared—more likely gaped in wonder at Hugo —his skin was flushed, his hair a thick, curly gorgeous mess. Lips soft and wet plumped swollen from their kisses. Eyes normally wide and bright, now heavily lidded with passion and lust, and desperate desire for Harry. Whimpering softly, Harry dove back in, his tongue now demanding an entrance that Hugo had never denied him. 

His need to taste Hugo’s skin now softly pink from their day in the sun and their strenuous activity, was too strong for him to refuse any longer, Harry moved on to Hugo’s neck. Sucking and biting, the then soothed the sting of the bite with the flat of his tongue against the sensitive flesh. Harry repeated the action on both sides of Hugo’s neck; giving equal tribute to both sides. 

Harry’s attention focused solely on Hugo’s neck and underjaw and drawing out Hugo’s gasps of pleasure, Harry failed to realise Hugo’s hands no longer remained passively at his side. Instead, they now struggled with opening Harry’s zip and buttons. The zip lowered, Hugo reaching his hand inside, fingers strong and calloused, curled around Harry’s cock, pulled it through the opening, stroking it from root to tip.

“Fuck!” Harry gasped. “Harder. Please more!” 

Hugo tightened his grip, his strokes firmer and rougher than previous. Speed and pressure increased, kisses became more frenzied, more demanding. Perfect. It was everything Harry could ever had wanted, but never knew, how much he needed.

Harry was _this_ fucking close. 

Before Harry could speak, Hugo dropped to his knees. Unsnapping and unzipping Harry’s jeans, Hugo shoved them and Harry’s pants down to just below the curve of his arse, his hand reaching under Harry’s scrotum, he caressed Harry’s balls, rolling them with the tips of his fingers. 

His lips wrapped around Harry’s cock, Hugo pushed down as far as he could. A slight pressure against the tip of his cock and then Hugo’s throat opened impossibly wide and deep and Harry’s cock pushed against the back of Hugo’s throat. _Hot, wet, silky, blissful, perfect_, the pleasure almost more than he could bear. 

Before he realised it, Harry was spilling down Hugo’s throat. Fingers curled through Hugo’s hair and Harry clung to the scalp beneath, holding on. Thrusting into that incredible wet heat, Harry fucked Hugo’s mouth until he was spent and boneless. 

Harry slid down the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, his bare arse resting against the parquet floor, his head against the wainscoting. When he could breathe steadily again he had only one desire. To give Hugo the same pleasure Hugo had just given him. He may have never had a man’s cock in his mouth, but damn he wanted one now. What he lacked in experience, he hoped to make up for in enthusiasm.

Harry turned toward Hugo and then stopped, his cock twitching with immediate interest. Hugo’s cock, ruddy and slick with pre-come, pushed through the opening of his pants. Hugo’s hand moved furiously fast over his cock, wanking with complete abandon. In full view of Harry, as if he was alone and lost in the sensation of pleasuring himself, and only himself. Fearful if he made any movement at all, Hugo might stop, and that absolutely could not happen. This was the hottest fucking thing Harry had ever seen. 

Until, he caught the expression of sexual bliss that covered Hugo’s face. Eyes half lidded and his cheeks flushed with intensity. Hugo’s teeth were biting into his lower lip, now pink and swollen, from the weight of Harry’s cock having pressed against it. Hugo’s nipples still erect and pebbled just begging to be bitten. Circe’s tits, but he was gorgeous. Hugo’s hand became a blur of movement. His expression, one of brief surprise and his orgasm shot from him. Ropes of creamy spunk streaked across Hugo’s abdomen and chest. 

Harry refused to miss any other opportunities. Before Hugo had finished spending, Harry bent over and licked the access. His first taste of another man’s semen, he was surprised at how similar and yet how different the taste was to his own. Except that tasting another’s, was a million times better. 

Afterward, they sat, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Propping the other up, they leaned against the wall near the elephant foot umbrella stand, their fingers entwined. Their shirts off and their trousers either pulled down to their thighs, or just opened at the zip, cocks softening in the warm air. Hugo’s tongue swiped across his lips as he caught the last of Harry’s come. While he watched, fascinated, Harry wondered what it would be like to taste himself on Hugo’s tongue. He leaned forward, his lips sliding against Hugo’s, his tongue probing deep as he explored Hugo’s mouth and the faint taste of himself, still lingering.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes a really really bad mistake. Hugo is not at all pleased with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry its been such a long spell between postings. Posting this one chapter at a time has reinforced something I've known for a long time. Once something has been completed, or no longer constantly in my waking, or sleeping for that matter brain--I have trouble wanting to continue working on it. 
> 
> I may have messed this chapter quite bit after my helpers, wwmrsweasleydo and my_thestral returned it to me. Any and all errors are my responsibility alone. 
> 
> And, it does appear there will be more chapters than originally thought. We're up to at least 11, maybe more. :)

Chapter 7

Harry arrived at the Granger-Weasley’s house one sunny afternoon and approached Hugo with some degree of caution. He’d been thinking about this for several days now. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” Harry said nervously, not sure how Hugo would react to his plans. “Listen, I know you said that you’re afraid of flying, but maybe, that’s because you’ve never learned properly. We’ll go up together; we’ll even share the same broom. I’ll be right there with you. Nothing will happen, I promise.”

Hugo paled: his freckles standing out in stark contrast, and violently began shaking his head, no. “No, no, no Harry no. I can’t. Don’t make me,” he begged

But Harry insisted, and he could be quite persuasive when he felt he needed to be. For some reason he believed this was one of those times. Only later would he wish he’d not been quite so insistent. 

They had barely pushed off the ground, Hugo tucked up safely in front of him, Harry’s arms wrapped around him and holding the handle. The top of the hazel trees still above them, Hugo’s terror became critical. Shaking and trembling so violently Harry worried it might knock them both off.

Calming Hugo’s fear his only goal, Harry leaned forward and whispered in Hugo’s ear. “Shh, it’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” He raised one hand off the broom and stroked the side of Hugo’s cheek.

It was as if Harry had just struck him or worse as if he’d Disapparated leaving Hugo alone above ground. A triggered response, Hugo bucked wildly, scrabbling and scrambling to get away, to get off, even it seemed attempting to jump; so desperate was he to get away. All the time he was screaming “No, No, No!” Thrashing wildly, he managed to cold-cock Harry along the side of his head, knocking him all but senseless. A mere second only, even so it was still long enough for Harry to temporarily lose control, and the broom tilted sideways and down towards the ground. Harry threw an immediate _incarcerous_ tying Hugo securely to the broom and keeping him from falling.

Hugo reacted immediately. No longer screaming and thrashing, he now went completely still—paralyzed, as if his terror was too strong for movement. Silent tears streamed down Hugo’s face and he kept repeating, “Please not again. Don’t let me fall. Please, I don’t want to fall, not again.” Hugo actually feared the possibility of falling. Somewhere, somehow Hugo had come to fear the possibility of actually falling. Where this had come from, Harry had no idea, all he knew was: he had to get them both safely on the ground, and soon.

Hurriedly, but steadily Harry lowered them to the ground without incident releasing the spell holding Hugo to the broom. He reached out to help him. Hugo jerked away from him, slapping Harry’s hand away as he did. Crawling, scrambling, even running several yards, Hugo finally stopped and bent over breathing heavily and retching. Tears, snot and absolute fury ran down his face. Dismayed, Harry had no idea what to do, or even why it was happening.

As if soothing a wounded animal, Harry quietly approached Hugo. “Hugo,” he said in the softest voice he could, gently touching him on the shoulder. Hugo didn’t move, only knelt on the ground his head bent over, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Are you alright?” Harry asked.

In a fury beyond Harry’s wildest imaginings, Hugo whirled towards him, rising to his feet as he did. “No, I’m not alright, you wanker. You complete mother- fucking and bloody wanker.”

Harry took a step back. In that moment it wasn’t Hugo he saw before him, but his mum, Hermione, in that unforgettable moment from their third year, just before she had slugged Malfoy. 

She had been brilliant then, and Hugo was equally brilliant. Harry only wished he understood what had just happened. Hugo had never been in any danger; Harry would have protected him, whatever it had taken. What could possibly have happened to make him that afraid?

“No, I’m not alright, you reckless and selfish tosspot. You’ve known for years that I hated Quidditch, that it terrified me. Did you think it was some aimless fear? Did you think just because -- just because you --” He seemed unable to continue. “You know what? Just fuck it.” He turned and started walking across the field.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you,” Hugo snapped.

“What? Why? Please Hugo, at last tell me why, what happened to make you so afraid.” 

Hugo stared at the ground so long; Harry feared he wasn’t going to answer. At last he raised his head and turned in Harry’s direction, but never made eye contact. 

“I was about five, I think. It was the anniversary of the war. Parties were everywhere. All over England people were celebrating. I’m sure you remember them.” Hugo started talking without any preamble, as if he wasn’t even aware that he was.

Harry did remember it, unfortunately. Praised and lauded through the country, he had hated it. Hated the attention, hated the praise; hated the fact that no one gave much, if any, thoughts to those that were lost. But he said nothing; this was Hugo’s soliloquy, not a conversation. 

“If you’ll recall, it’s also the anniversary of Uncle Fred’s death, the uncle I never knew. The Weasley clan celebration was, as usual, at the Burrow. In among the celebrations they told stories of Uncle Fred, and the pranks he and Uncle George used to pull. 

“It was fun, at first. The stories were funny, but Uncle George started to argue, fist with Aunt Angelina, then with Grandma Molly. Some mean and hurtful things were said and Uncle George started drinking—a lot. I mean a lot, lot. Not in a fun way either, more in a really angry sort of way. The more they talked and laughed about Uncle Fred, the angrier and sadder Uncle George grew and the more he drank.

“At last the celebration ended and everyone left. Rose and I were spending the night at Uncle George’s. We loved staying with them, everyone did; they had the best toys. It was late; Rose was already in bed, reading. Everyone else remained at the Burrow, or had gone home.”

“I had wandered out into the garden. To look for fairy lights, or maybe to see if there were any nocturnal gnomes I could try and catch, when Uncle George saw me and decided it was the perfect evening for a night flight.” Now visibly trembling, Hugo stopped as if was difficult for him to continue. 

His heart in his throat, unable to speak himself, Harry could only wait for Hugo to confirm what he already knew was coming.

“I knew something wasn’t right. His words were slurred, and he laughed too much and too loud, at things that weren’t even funny. Then he started to cry, I mean sobbing. I remember trying to convince him it was a really bad idea. But he insisted, sort of like you just did.” 

Fury again filled Hugo’s eyes and his nostrils flared in anger. “No, it was exactly like you just did.” He took several deep breaths working to contain his emotions and continued. “Like you, he put me in front and we took off.” 

“I tried to get away, but he held onto me, really tight. I swear Harry I’ve no idea what happened next. We were hovering around the top of the old oak tree. I remember passing over the top branches. I was still so scared, but I had stopped screaming or tying to climb off the broom.” 

Hugo clenched his teeth to try and stop the shaking. “He seemed to think we weren’t yet high enough, or something. I remember him saying something along the lines of: “maybe if I can fly high enough, we can find heaven. My brother Fred has to be there, I just want to see him one more time. You’ll like him, I’m sure.” And he pointed the broom straight for the stars.” 

Hugo’s remembrance of George’s words crushed Harry. As angry as he was at George, his heart still bled for him.

“Uncle George’s words became even more slurred, his breathing heavier, and slower like Dad’s did whenever he fell asleep on the sofa. Maybe Uncle George fell asleep, I’m not sure. Either way, his hold on me grew loose.” 

Hugo kept talking. “I think maybe somehow a bird flew too close to us, we were above the trees, so I don’t see how it could be a branch. It was so dark, I couldn’t see anything. Or maybe it was just a change in wind speed or direction. I don’t know, but then--” Shaking visibly, tears fell from Hugo’s eyes. He brushed at them roughly, though they continued to fall. 

Harry could barely breathe, his anger at George Weasley reaching such a level, he feared what he might do. And Ron? Why would Ron blame his son for this, for his fear of flying, after what he’d been through? Wanting only to let Hugo know, he had his support, Harry took a step closer. Hugo moved even further away. 

“The next thing I knew, the broom had turned, tilting horribly, and I could feel myself start to fall. I screamed. Uncle George jerked awake or into awareness.” Hugo shrugged. “It was too late. I was already falling, heading straight for the earth. He tried to catch me, to stop me, or at least slow my descent, but he was in no condition. ” 

“The darkness and fog was so thick. That’s right, I remember now it was the fog that made the whole experience that much more horrible. It was like pea soup. I couldn’t see the ground, but I knew it was coming, faster and faster.”

He paused for a few seconds gathering his thoughts, “I think it was the not knowing when I was going to hit that was the worst. There’s no way to prepare. Freefalling, hmph,” said with disdain, “can you imagine what that did to a five year old? The un-seeable, unknowable horror is coming right at you, and you’re completely at a loss as to when it’s going to happen.” 

“Panic filled Aunt Angelina’s voice as she ran from the house, but she couldn’t see us any better than we could see her. Uncle George was crying and hollering, and I was crying and screaming too. The noise must have been horrifying. At last they managed to cast a _lumos_ strong enough to see me, but it was too late really.” 

“She managed to cast a cushioning charm at the very last moment, but it didn’t cover the entire area. I caught the edge of it, enough to keep me from being killed. She brought me inside and cast healing spells that she knew from working at the shop. I was sore for several days.”

He paused then and took several shuddering breaths. “Physically I was okay, but I’ve never recovered from the absolute terror I felt during that fall. Never, and I never will. I still have nightmares about it.”

“And then you!” Hugo’s emotion had not lessened. “The person I trust most outside of Mum and Dad, you put me through it all over again!” Hugo’s slow, methodical way of talking had vanished. His face wet with angry tears, Hugo screamed at Harry. “And for no reason, other than the fact that you seemed to think you knew better than me, that all it would take was your promise, that I’d be okay.” 

After that final outburst, Hugo seemed to deflate. He stood breathing heavily and looking away from Harry. Tracks of his tears still marked his cheeks. “Look, I know it’s perfectly safe, hundreds, maybe even thousands of people do it every day. I also know with complete certainty that I am going to die, and die horribly, if I ever get on another broom. Now, do you understand?” he said softly. 

There was still one thing Harry didn’t understand. “Hugo, why does your Dad give you such grief about not flying knowing what happened to you. I mean, how could he?” Harry’s anger towards his best mate, the man he’d spent years loving, was so great he wasn’t sure it would recover. Like everyone, Ron had done some questionable things in his life, but this… this bordered on the unforgivable. 

“He doesn’t know. That’s why. Angelina never told him and neither did I. He would have killed Uncle George, if he’d known he put me in such danger. Angelina and George had a huge fight about what had happened that night. He went into treatment and started going to special meetings. To the best of my knowledge he’s not had a drop to drink since then.”

Harry nodded. George Weasley remained stone cold sober, no matter how wasted the rest of them got.

“And Harry, do you think it would serve any good purpose to tell Dad about this now, after all these years? No. It would just eat away at him, worrying about what could have happened. So I let him nag at me and be disappointed in me. But I remain in one piece, and my dad and his brother, his business partner, still love and respect and adore one another. So it’s all good. Or it was until today.” 

He stood silently for several long minute, then took a deep breath. “I really am exhausted now. I just want to go home and have several cups of hot sweet tea, extra strong,” deflating as it were, while Harry watched, helpless. “I may be really, really angry at you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you. I do, a lot. I just need some space and time away from you. But--” he turned and strode purposefully towards Harry until he stood right in front of Harry.

Images of Hermione again flashed before Harry. “But if you _ever_ do anything like this again, that’s it we’re done. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust or respect me enough for me to make my own choices, to know when something’s right for me, or incredibly, mother fucking wrong for me. Are we clear?” His twilight blue eyes flashed with such intensity, it was if lightning was in them. 

He spun away, disappearing with a loud _crack_

Harry could only stand there thinking of what a horrible and absolutely stupid thing he had just done, and hoping against hope that somehow Hugo would find the way to forgive him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry waits to hear from Hugo. It's a forever wait--as far as Harry is concerned.

chapter 8 

Harry continued to stand unmoving in the field, his broom in hand. How could he have just done what he did? He had no answers—for himself, or for Hugo. Finally after several empty moments, he turned and climbed aboard and flew home.

And waited. Terrified if he left the house, Hugo would try to contact him and he wouldn’t be there. His mobile turned up and loud and always with him, he tried to go about his day. Every tap at his window had him tearing through the house, sending requests to all the gods, that it would be Hugo’s owl at the window. Every floo and all the wards on #12 Grimmauld Place were cleared and ready for visitors.

Only later did Harry realise he probably should have blocked all other intrusions outside of Hugo. Harry had more phone call, owl deliveries and floo calls in that one day then he’d had in a month. None of them were Hugo, though. Why Seamus, whom he hadn’t heard from in years suddenly decided to give him a call, he didn’t know. And Robards knew when Harry was scheduled back to work, why was he suddenly needing to send him countless owls verifying the information. All Harry could do, was tolerate the intrusions, and try to remove them as quickly as possible. With each moment he grew more and more depressed that none of them were Hugo.

Ultimately, he resorted to the same activities that had occupied him that first night after he and Hugo had spent their first evening at the _Mug and Pie_. He cleaned.

This time was different though. This time he was much more despondent, constantly interrupting himself in mid task to stop and think about Hugo. To think about how just two days before, they had spent the afternoon on a basketball court, laughing and trying to one up each other, and the event s that had taken place after. To punish himself even more, he spent an inordinate amount of time in his foyer, looking at the walls, remembering the feel of it behind his back as Hugo had knelt in front of him, had taken his cock in his mouth and blew Harry’s mind, even as he blew him. Hugo’s face as he had stroked himself to completion, watching Harry for his reaction with each stroke. Stop! Harry yelled at himself and moved on to the next room, the kitchen. It wasn’t any better. There he thought of the food truck completion and licking juice or sauce off each other’s chins and going in for deep kisses. It was too much.

Even his back garden with his trusty basketball set up failed; each shot reminded him of Hugo. 

He thought of calling Hugo himself, but his gut told him that would be the wrong thing to do. Hugo needed to be the one. Harry tended to listen to his gut, and that was why he was so angry with himself now. His gut had told him not to do what he had done. It knew Hugo had no interest in flying, but Harry had overridden it, he should have known better; his gut had never let him down before.

At last, giving it all up as a lost cause, Harry threw on the rattiest clothes he had, and with a large bowl of crisps and of chocolate digestive biscuits, curled on the sofa and watched TV. Flipping between the DIY and the cooking channels, he paid no attention to what he was watching. 

Several agonizing days and sleepless nights passed in this manner before Harry heard from Hugo. His joy at recognising Hugo’s scrawl when the owl tapped at the window, (and yes Harry was exceptionally glad that the owl could not go back and report how slovenly and disgusting Harry was looking at that exact moment) asking Harry if he was free to meet for drinks or dinner that evening, had Harry grinning with delight. Hugo found he was missing the food from the _ Mug and Pie_; he couldn’t imagine eating there without Harry’s company and would he join him? 

Harry answered with an immediate; “I’d love to,” and attaching the note treated the postal owl to the best and biggest owl treat he could find, before sending him on his way. 

Harry spent more time and care getting ready for that evening than he had any other he could remember. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he hadn’t spent less time getting ready for his wedding. He wanted to look his best for Hugo. It was important that Hugo knew how special he was to Harry.

The evening starting off much as the others had at the _Mug and Pie_ As they ate and drank and shared their last few days, Harry waited expecting Hugo to demand an apology or an explanation or something, about the last ill-fated time they had been together. Hugo never said a word. 

Finally, Harry couldn’t take it any longer. “Shouldn’t we talk?”

“Sure, about what?” Hugo answered a confused look on his face.

“Erm, about, you know. About what happened?” Harry fiddled with his napkin, wadding it into a ball, and then smoothing it out flat on the table. 

“No reason to. I’ve told you how I felt about it, and I took the time I needed to examine all sides of the situation. I’m ready for us to try again.” Hugo put down his glass and looked at Harry, steadfast and steady. He shrugged. “The ball’s now in your court. You’ll either fuck up like that again, and I‘ll have to say good-bye to the most important and best person in my life outside of my family. Or”, he paused to take another sip of his ale and to fold his napkin over his now empty plate, “you won’t and we’ll see just how far this thing between us goes. For my part, I hope it lasts an impossibly long time. Maybe even on par with the Warriors run of 2014-2016, or even the Bulls in the nineties,” he added with a quick grin at Harry. 

“So, I’m off the hook then?” Harry asked, figuring if Hugo was bringing basketball legendary win-loss records into the conversation, they might be close to this horrible incident being put behind them. Carefully pressing his fork tines into the remaining crust and gravy on his plate, he waited for Hugo’s response. 

“I wouldn’t say you’re off the hook.” Hugo’s expression as he turned back to Harry was stern and all seriousness. Then Harry noted the grin as it flashed across his face, just as Hugo turned and subtly transformed his much maligned napkin into a small ball. “You’re just no longer dangling by a frayed thread waiting to drop off into shark infested waters.” The napkin sailed into the waste bin a few feet away, and that it appeared was that; case closed. 

More relaxed and at ease since that fated day, Harry, and Hugo, leaned back to enjoy whatever was on the screen closest to them. The only sports being shown were rugby and cricket. Neither of them fans of either sport, they decided to go and try their hands at a game of darts. As they stood waiting for their turn at the board, they chatted of other things. 

Hugo’s job was about to start in a few days. Was he nervous? Yes, of course, but also excited. Harry’s kids, he’d not heard from Lily in several weeks, and he was while not actually worried, he was starting to get concerned. Albus had dropped by with his roommates, Lorcan and Lysander. Harry wasn’t sure if Albus was sleeping with one of them, both of them, or were they truly just flat mates. There had been signs leaning both ways, but Harry was not about to ask too many questions. He wasn’t _that_ stupid of a dad, besides he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. Hugo just nodded at him with a smirk and a, probably best you not. 

At last it was their turn. As Hugo pulled back his arm taking aim before his throw, Harry was suddenly assaulted by an enthusiastic hug from behind. Harry spun around. Arjun, the player with the Pavarti eyes and laugh from the basketball game a few days back, stood grinning at him. Harry returned the quick embrace and the two of them began chatting back and forth about the latest NBA championship games, and how they’d ended up at the same pub together. A favourite hangout of them both, they were astounded it had taken this long for them to both be there at the same time. 

A few minutes later, Arjun looked past Harry’s shoulder and smiled. He gave a little, slightly mocking, hand wave. Harry turned to find Hugo glaring at them from across the room. It was wrong he knew, but Harry couldn’t help the small flare of warmth he felt at Hugo’s jealousy. Preening he turned back to continue talking, and yes flirting, with Arjun, until he heard the musical sound of feminine laughter in the area Hugo had just been. 

Uduru, one of the two girls, or women more accurately, from their shared game in the park, tall and stunningly dressed in bright purple and emerald green, the colours vibrant against the deep deep brown of her skin, had just reached Hugo’s side. She gave him a warm, and in Harry’s opinion, embrace that lasted longer than was strictly necessary. Chokers of thick gold wrapped around her elegantly long neck, and did nothing to take away from the ample cleavage she was showing. Though he knew it was stupid, Harry could not help the small flare of doubt that crept in, wondering if Hugo ever had doubts about his being gay. If he had, someone like Uduru would definitely be one to turn him back. 

Harry’s chest-monster began rising to a pre-emptive strike level, this person was about to make a move on his man. Harry stared across the space to find Hugo simultaneously giving death glares to Arjun, while Harry did the same to Uduru. Catching the other’s eye, Harry and Hugo looked at each other and sheepishly grinned. Each aware of what had just happened and what it meant. Ignoring the other person standing next to them and still talking, they walked toward the other. In front of all the patrons at the publican’s house, Hugo wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, tilted his head and kissed Harry deeply, his teeth nipping lightly at Harry’s bottom lip. No words were spoken, there was no need. 

Hand in hand they walked to the back hall where the floo connection was. “Come home with me?” Harry asked feeling a bit overwhelmed that Hugo was standing there with him, and even more so, when Hugo smiled, tossed in the floo powder and plainly said, “Number 12, Grimmauld Place,” disappearing into the flames. 

Harry followed after him, tripping over this own feet, as usual, as he fell through. But Hugo was there to catch him. Harry stabilized himself and then backed away, his nervousness overwhelming him.

“Would you like a cup of tea or maybe something stronger?” Harry asked. His mouth felt so dry, he was having trouble swallowing. 

Hugo shook his head, a mischievous smile growing slowly across his face. Harry’s mouth went suddenly even drier.

“Want to watch the telly; there might be a game on?”

Again Hugo shook his head and it seemed as if he was moving ever closer to Harry with each shake of his head.

“Maybe some music?” Harry swallowed hard. His back now pressed against the wall.

“Perhaps later.” Hugo now stood in front of Harry; close enough to touch without straining. “Harry, there’s nothing I want but you, just you. Here,” Hugo took Harry’s hand and placed on his crotch, covering it with his own hand and giving a firm squeeze. “Feel, how much I want you,” he whispered, his gaze never leaving Harry’s face. 

The length and girth of Hugo’s cock in Harry’s hand, separated by the thick denim of Hugo jeans and Harry wanted it in his hand, against his palm. Wanted it his mouth, to discover how much of it he could take, how far down his throat he could manage. 

Permission already given, Harry unbuckled Hugo’s belt and loosened his jeans, shoving his hand into the opening. The dampness of Hugo’s pants from his arousal pressed against the back of Harry’s hand. Tightening his grip along the length, Harry rubbed the pad of his thumb across the head, gathering the excess fluid that had accumulated. 

His need to taste Hugo beyond his understanding, Harry lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked. The taste of Hugo exploded across his tongue and taste buds: bitter, salty, vinegary. 

Hugo blinked slowly, opening his mouth in a silent. “Oh,”

“I want to taste all of you. May I?” Harry whispered his own lust now raging at the desperate desire in Hugo’s eyes.

Hugo bent down and pushed his jeans and pants down to his ankles. As the jeans lowered, Harry got a full view of the tattoo he’d only previously been given glimpses of. A dolphin swimming in a body of water, the water seemed to change colours depending on where the dolphin was. As it swam across the top of Harry’s thigh, it periodically would lift its head out of the depths, and make the slight barking sound recognisable to all--the dolphin laugh.

Fascinated, Harry stood and watched. Hugo’s hand curled in his hair and gave a sharp tug, bringing Harry’s attention back to the well-formed heavy cock that hung in front of him. The tattoo would have to wait. Hugo stepped out of jeans and pants, his blown pupils never looking away from Harry. 

Harry loosened his own snap and zip, knowing there was no way he would get through this without wanking, he lowered himself to the hard wood floor. The softness of a cushioning charm beneath his knees, Harry smiled up at Hugo in gratitude. His knees weren’t what they used to be, having suffered way too many battle wounds over the past years. 

The world and everything in it came to a stop while Harry contemplated Hugo’s cock in front of him. Fuck! This was what he’d waited his whole bloody life for. Forty years of wanking, at last there was a cock close enough to touch, to taste, and the time to reach out and lay claim to it. He did just that, leaning forward; he pressed his tongue against the base and drew it up until he reached the head, precome seeping from the slit. Harry pressed his tongue against the slip. Hugo’s taste again exploded in his mouth. 

Hugo released a harsh moan of need above him. 

Harry wrapped his tongue around the head, lapping at it like one would lap at an ice cream wanting to be sure to stop the dripping from all sides. Fluid continuing to seep from the slit, even more, Harry pressed his tongue against it, again and again. First the flat of his tongue, but an intuition he hadn’t known he had, told him pressing the very tip of his tongue into the slit would give Hugo even more pleasure. 

So he did, and it did. Hugo’s cock twitched energetically in response. His groans grew lower and louder. His hands gripping Harry’s head, fingers twisting into Harry’s hair and held him.

Lust tore through Harry, reaching down with his free hand; Harry gasped his own cock, his own precome providing him all the lubricant he needed. 

To Harry’s way of thinking, the world both slowed to an almost stop, and sped up, rushing towards a crescendo.

Hugo’s cock in his mouth, its weigh, its girth, its taste, now Harry’s sole focus. That and his own cock’s desperate need for more attention. Pushing down with his mouth, he took Hugo in as deep as he could, deep into his throat, until his nose rested against the ginger curls that surrounded Hugo’s cock, and Hugo cock pushed against the back of Harry’s throat.

And there he rested, adjusting. Above him Hugo’s fingers tightened and a slow and shallow thrusting began, with each press against Harry’s throat the thrusting increased. Fucking hell, Harry couldn’t believe he had been missing this – this – this incredible sensation, feeling, taste all his life.

Suctioning and using his tongue in the way he remembered Hugo had, Harry lost himself. His other hand now a dripping mess from his own orgasm, there was no surprise when Hugo gasped, “Harry, I’m gonna… Oh fuck, Harry, I’m…”

Again that warm vinegary slightly salty taste flooded across his mouth and throat, only this time in more quantity. Harry swallowed what he could, the extra dripping out of the corners of his mouth. He drew back and off, licked at the head of Hugo’s cock, cleaning him, until Hugo pulled away, a soft “too much.” 

Harry fell back onto his haunches and looked at up. Hugo’s joy was clear in his eyes and on his face for all to see. Hugo collapsed down in front of him and their lips and mouths crashed together like waves against the stony coast line of Cornwall. 

Tears that had been threatening now formed in Harry’s eyes. Merlin, he was such a dweeb, but Hugo only pulled him closer onto his l and held him, his lips pressing gentle kisses cross Harry’s face, neck and shoulders.

Harry did not think he had ever felt more fulfilled than he did at that moment. As he knelt there, he realised he had never said those very important words. Words he owed Hugo more than he’d ever had anyone else. “Hugo,” he said softly but distinctly. “I’m really so very very sorry for what I did.”

Hugo tugged softly had his hair. “I know, Harry. I know.” His smile more brilliant than ever.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Harry talk. Ron finally realises the truth of Harry's feelings, but present and past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last chapter for a while. The remaining ones aren't coming together quite as fast or as easily as I had hoped. Anyway, I apologize to the few of you who are reading this, and perhaps the finished product will be worth the wait. Hugs, and thanks.

Chapter 9 

Three days had passed since Harry and Hugo had spent the evening together at the _“Mug and Pie_, and the events that happened after. Three days since Harry had held Hugo’s cock in his mouth, felt its weight against his tongue, inhaled the heavy musky scent of Hugo’s arousal; had swallowed down Hugo’s come as it flooded his throat. The memory of that evening and its impact on Harry had him missing Hugo more than he’d have thought. With that in mind, Harry arrived at Hugo’s home, a special evening planned as a surprise for Hugo’s first day on his new job. 

Hermione welcomed him in, offering him a cup of Darjeeling while they waited. She explained how Hugo had been caught up at the Wheezes, helping to complete the inventory. “He rushed in, heading immediately for the shower, afraid you’d have to wait too long for him,” she said as she handed Harry his cup. “As if you wouldn’t wait as long as it took for him.”

Sitting on one of the many bar stools strategically placed around the large kitchen, she turned to him. “Harry, what are you doing? You know he’s not Ron.” 

“Wh... What do you mean?” He stammered, but he knew. 

“Harry, I know you’ve been lonely since Ginny left, and with the kids being gone and moving on with their own lives. But Harry, he’s not Ron. I know he’s of age, so it’s his choice, but he’s my son, and I don’t want to see him hurt. Just make sure it’s truly him you want and not as some substitute for Ron. Hugo really cares about you; anyone with eyes to see knows that.” She reached out and lifted her cup from the granite counter, blew on it and took a cautious sip.

Placing it back down, she continued, with a smile. “I’m not sure Ron has quite put things together. He thinks you two are just going out and hanging about as mates. He either can’t see, or refuses to see the truth of what is happening, but he’s starting to ask some questions of late.” She turned her golden brown eyes on Harry. “While I’d hate to set Ron on you, I would if I felt you were intentionally using our son, or if I found out you didn’t feel the same about Hugo as he does about you.” Feeling the full impact of what she was saying and wanting to assure that his feelings were real, were true, Harry nodded. 

“What do you mean: substituting Hugo for Ron?” 

She turned and gave him her ‘how stupid do you think I am’ looks, before rolling her eyes. “Harry, I meant what I said. Hugo’s not Ron, will never be Ron. You can’t use him as a substitute for those feelings.” 

“You knew?” He asked. His voice, a tremor of what it normally was. 

“Oh Harry, of course, I knew.” The look she gave him was filled with so much empathy and compassion he felt overcome. Though he should not have been, he should have known this was what she had always given him, and always would.

He’d tried so hard, been so careful about hiding his feelings for Ron, especially from her—Ron’s wife and Harry’s dearest friend. He should have known better, he could never hide anything from Hermione.

Her gaze softening she continued. “And believe me, as much as I love you, I love my son more --so very, very much more. Just make sure you are careful with him, he’s not nearly as grown and mature as he’d like you to believe.” 

“How long?”

“Since that night after Ron had left us in the Forest of Dean. I felt your emptiness and despair as we danced. I know you thought you were there to comfort me, but I think…” she paused and looked at him with so much understanding. “I think you needed me even more. I had suspected since fourth year when you and Ron had that first fight, and you were so broken. But that night in the forest, I knew you were completely in love with him. If Voldemort had really wanted to crush you, he would have used images of me and Ron, instead of what he did. 

Memories of that night came flooding back, leaving him with no choice but to smile sadly at her. Along with them came the memory of Ron’s return. Even after all these years, Harry still remembered that flash of joy—hot, bright and instant—when the hand had reached down and pulled him from the pond, and he had realised it was Ron. 

Running through his mind, over and over, had been the thought that Ron had returned for Harry, because he felt the same way Harry did. That he loved Harry the same as Harry love him. All Ron would have had to do, was asked or even just look as if he’d wanted and Harry would have laid himself on the ground in front of Ron, would have opened himself up to him. 

But Ron had done none of that. Instead Harry had had to watch and feel the heartbreak of watching Ron fall apart while the Horcrux destroyed them both. Harry had taken Ron back to their campsite. He’d seen the way Ron had reacted to Hermione and her fury at him. In that very moment Harry had known, with a knowing that was physically painful. For Ron, it would always be Hermione. Harry would be forever second, in Ron’s heart. 

Hermione’s gaze slid past him, her eyes widening. He turned. Ron looking stunned and devastated stood leaning against the door frame, his expression penitent. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Ron that contrite--sheepish and embarrassed yes, but never as humbled as he now appeared. Harry wondered how long he had been there, and what he had heard.

“Oh man, Harry. I never knew. I swear. I would never have intentionally hurt you that way. I feel a right wanker.” He walked toward Harry, but turned to look at Hermione. “_Somebody_ should have told me. You’re my best mate, my very best friend. The person I love the most outside of my family and you even beat out a couple of them.” He walked over to Harry, wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him into a tight hug. There was nothing romantic in the gesture, only the embrace of two men who meant the world to each other. 

“Would your knowing have changed anything, other than making you feel uncomfortable around me?” Harry whispered against Ron’s shoulder. “Would it have changed the way you felt?”

“Probably not,” Ron answered with complete honesty, “but maybe I could have been more understanding. Not pushed so hard for you to marry Gin, or been such a jerk, making fun and snide remarks about people who were gay.” 

“Then don’t worry about it. None of it was your fault. You’re not to blame. We don’t always get to choose who we fall in love with.” And it was true. Ron would never be his lover, and that was fine because Hugo was now in Harry’s life, and he couldn’t be happier. He thought it time he talked to his closest friends about his feeling for their son, not that it would come as any surprise to Hermione. 

“I don’t know, Hermione, but I’m thinking maybe Ron’s emotional capacity has increased to the volume of a cup or a liter, even. What do you think?” Harry teased as he and Ron drew apart from one another. And if one or both of them may have had a tear or two in their eyes, or lumps in their throats as they did, neither of them said a word, or felt any shame in it. 

As Ron stood, he exclaimed, aghast. “So wait. Do you mean I could have been getting free blow jobs whenever I wanted, since fourth year? Bloody hell! Why didn’t someone tell me?” He wailed. “I could have gone for that.” He turned and flashed that patented Ron’s smile in Harry’s direction waggling his eyebrows for all he was worth. “Sure would have beaten spending fifth year as “_Won, Won_.” He shuddered, then ducked with laughter as both Hermione and Harry reached out to slap him up side his head. 

“And we’re back to teaspoon again,” Harry deadpanned. And the three of them broke into gales of laughter. 

Yet underneath his laughter, Harry still recalled the anguish of listening as Ron shared intimate details of what it had been like to fuck Lavender Brown. How tight and wet she was, and how her breasts filled up his hands, how she arched her back begging for more as he’d sucked and bitten her nipples. 

And every night when Ron had at last grown silent and fallen asleep, Harry would lay there, his heart breaking, his hand down his pants and wonder. What it would be like to be Lavender and have Ron leaning over him, it being Harry’s nipples Ron bit and sucked and tongued to rigged peaks, Ron’s cock in him and Ron fucking him. It had been that same year, fifth year, when Harry had first put his own fingers inside him, wishing they were Ron’s. 

While the three of them were still laughing, Hugo walked in, frowning lightly at them. 

Harry jumped up and went to stand by him, exchanging a warm and relaxed yet intimate kiss. All romantic thoughts of Ron, cast aside at Hugo’s touch. 

As the kiss lingered, Ron sputtered. “I knew it. I knew something was going on,” Ron burst out. “I just couldn’t quite figure it out.” He glared at both Harry and Hugo, but more Harry. “That first day when you came to the house, and he was so bloody excited to see you. Then that same evening, I caught the two of you just outside the door, I could have sworn you were just about to kiss.” 

Ron turned to his wife, “Did you know about this, Hermione?” 

She paused. “Not at first, no. Like you, I thought they were just mates. But then, seeing how much talking to and about Harry made our son smile, and how they were spending so much of their time together, I began to put it together. Harry and I were just talking about it. While I’m not happy about it, it’s not really our choice. Hugo is of age. There’s nothing we can do, and Harry is our best mate. We’ve trusted him with everything else. I guess we can maybe trust him with our son.” 

“What’s going on?” Hugo asked. The others chuckled softly, looking with amusement at each other. “Never mind, it’s from a long time ago,” Harry said making a decision as he did. “Your mum was just telling me you are not your father.”

Hugo looked confused. However, there was something in his expression, a tinge of understanding that told Harry that this bright and astute young man had most likely been aware of Harry’s feeling for his dad, but all Hugo said was, “um okay.”

“And you know what. I know that. You’re everything your father was and so much more, and yet you’re nothing like your dad. You’re your own man. The perfect blend of your mum and of your dad, and a whole lot of just Hugo, and I couldn’t be happier to have you in my life.” 

“Oh, and as you’ve just cottoned on to, I’m quite fond of your son. With or without your blessing, he and I will be seeing each other, as often as we can.” Harry held Hugo’s hand in his; together the two of them stared down the two people standing across from them. Harry silently telling them _I’ve not felt about anyone, other than Ron, like this in—well forever—I care for your son and want to be with him. Don’t let this come between us, between our friendship_

“Are you ready to go? I’ve got a surprise for you.” At Hugo’s look of absolute dismay, Harry laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that. This one I promise you’re going to love.” 

“When should we expect him home?” Hermione asked with a smile on her face as Harry helped Hugo on with his coat. 

“Not until tomorrow. He’ll be spending tonight at mine, maybe even longer.” Harry answered with a confidence he’d not felt in a long while at the smug look of anticipation on Hugo’s face. 

As they opened the front door, Harry heard Hermione as she said, “I think we’re going to be experiencing the empty nest syndrome soon.” 

And Ron’s answering response of “Does that mean we can go back to shagging on the kitchen table whenever we want?” as the door closed behind them.

Harry’s laughter burst out of him at Hugo’s beet red embarrassment and Hermione’s giggling like a young school-girl, through the closed door. 

Harry was sure there would likely be more discussion at that same kitchen table than actual sex, but either way he thought Ron would grow to accept things as they were. They had been through so much together, and had learned over the years to trust one another. Though, the fact that Harry had married Ron’s sister when he had never been in love with her might make Ron’s journey to the ultimate destination of accepting Harry and Hugo, a bit of a battle. All Harry could do was prove to them both, Ron and Hermine, he meant what he said. 

~~~~~~

Animated about the game they had just seen, they streamed out of the arena following the rest of the crowd. Harry had been right; Hugo had loved the surprise: courtside tickets for two to a live, in arena basketball game, the Surrey Scorchers and the London City Royals. They each cheered on their preferred teams, though Hugo not quite as loud as Harry when he realised their seats were only few rows back Royals’ bench. Though, when one of the players turned around laughing at some of Hugo’s comments, Harry had sensed an allegiance change in Hugo’s future. 

It had been a great game, The Riders had won the game, a surprise to no one, but Surrey had kept it close enough for the crowd to really be into it. Having the professional players, right there, almost close enough to touch had been perfect—not as exciting as being at a Quidditch game, but Harry knew Hugo was never going to go for that—so this was the next closest.

He turned to look again at Hugo—something he’d been doing all night. His face shiny bright with happiness; Hugo grinned back at him then leaned over and kissed Harry lightly on the lips, reminding him of earlier. 

During one of the, never-ending, time outs, charmed by Hugo’s spontaneous chatter about the game and the players, Harry had kissed Hugo lightly on the lips. A flash of bright light, and then cheering and clapping and the people closest to them had slapped them excitedly on their backs and pointing. They’d looked up to see the image of them flashing across the screens-- the super large screens placed all around the arena—repeating the kiss they had just had and sharing it with everyone on the large _Kiss-Cam_. 

Each of them laughing and blushing, until Hugo had placed his finger under Harry’s chin, tilting it up and kissing him thoroughly, leaving Harry breathless and his glasses skewed crookedly on his nose. The crowd had gone wild—whooping and stomping their feet. Mortified with happy embarrassment, Harry had ducked down, pulling his shirt up and over his face until he was hidden from view, laughing the entire time. 

The current kiss was just a brief touch, but it sent a thrill through Harry, even more than the _Kiss Cam_ kiss had. He had such hopes for the rest of the night.

Once they were outside and away from the noise off the crowd, Harry asked. “Do you want to maybe go to the _Mug and Pie_, have a late night nosh and toss back a few. See where the evening takes us?” The last sentence reduced to a volume only accessible to the two of them. 

“See where the evening takes us?” Hugo quipped, his eyebrows raised meaningfully. “Like we don’t already know, but sure that sounds good. I could use some food. I only had a couple of hotdogs and some pretzels. I’m hungry.” 

Harry’s eyebrows rose at that. Hugo had just downed two eighteen inch hotdogs, and three pretzels, each larger than most people’s hands, not to mention the two extra-large fizzy sodas he’d consumed with them. That now kept him belching every thirty seconds or so. “Come on, I know a good place to Apparate. It’s a just down this mews over here. It’s one the Aurors use frequently.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it is going to happen. Harry is so excited, only it seems Hugo has things on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, things happened, life happened, viruses happened. It seemed like no one was interested in the story, and I too sort of lost interest.
> 
> I'm still working on the last chapter or two. I wouldn't say no to someone who might be willing to help out with a last minute beta while I work on the changes I feel the story needs.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy, and everyone stay safe out there and keep practicing social distancing.

Harry tucked Hugo’s arm in his and disapparated them away. Only they didn’t land at the _Mug and Pie_. Instead they landed directly in Harry’s bedroom, just barely missing his bed. “What the fuck?’ Harry yelped. “I didn’t do this, Hugo, I swear.” 

Though, maybe he had. As they had stepped together, it had not been the pub and its coordinates that he’d planted firmly in his mind. No, at the last moment Harry had envisioned his bed and the two of them, naked and entwined. His knees raised to his chest, his body lifted up and waiting for Hugo to fill him. 

Beside him came a muffled noise. Startled, and nervous, afraid that Hugo was upset at having been brought directly into Harry’s bedroom; Harry turned to apologise. Only to find Hugo bent over and laughter: bubbling, spontaneous and contagious laughter spewing forth. 

Sobering instantly, though Hugo’s face remained pink with amusement. “Oh Harry, my guileless and innocent Harry, You didn’t do this. I’m pretty sure I did, or maybe we both did.” It was hard for Hugo to talk over his own intermittent chuckling. 

“The moment you said ‘see where the evening takes us’, my mind I went straight to you spread out on a large, king-sized bed, naked and hard, waiting for someone to come and ravish you. A vision which is not at all funny, instead it’s hot. I mean really fucking smoking hot. It’s just, the look of total bewilderment, when we landed in your bedroom. Merlin, help me, was absolutely priceless.” 

Hugo continued laughing softly as he glanced around Harry’s bedroom, his gaze then landed on Harry. Whatever he saw there stopped him almost mid-sentence. “Harry,” he said his voice low and rough.

The flush of desire heated Harry’s face and neck. Passion and lust rose in him, along with the blood that surged further south. Knowing that Hugo’s wishes had been so similar to his had Harry instantly hard. 

Smiling, Harry moved forward, stopping to slide the gold links of his watch over his wrist and hand placing it on the bureau, as he did every single evening. He turned and pulling the tail of his shirt from his trousers, Harry walked towards Hugo. This evening was about to be so different from his other evenings. 

“I guess we’ll have to postpone that late night snack at the _Mug and Pie_ until later,” Hugo said once Harry had reached him. “Unless you preferred to go now, we can always come back here later,” Hugo teased. 

“Over my dead body,” Harry answered back. 

Mere inches now separated them. Hugo rested one hand on Harry’s shoulder, the other now wrapping around his neck, Hugo’s breath sweet against his lips. The kiss that followed lingered and explored; Hugo forming a trace memory of the inside of Harry’s mouth, its taste and its texture. If asked, years later, he could still describe it in intimate detail. 

At last Hugo backed away and Harry swayed; stunned and breathless, barely able to stand. Hugo held him steady in his arms, then asked, “What did you see? In your vision?” he whispered against Harry’s ear. “Describe it to me. Paint me a picture.” 

The moment the vision had taken him, Harry had known its ultimate conclusion. “I was on my back, naked and hard, desperate for your prick.” Harry trembled with need. “You were leaning over me about to push inside me. Well,” shrugging lightly, he looked down this his gaze flashed back up, staring intently at Hugo. Desperation of thirty years in the making and Harry wanted to be that person, wanted to be the one being fucked. 

Hugo pulled back, his penetrative stare verifying the truth of Harry’s words. “And that’s what you want, to be the one being claimed? Cause, I can go either way, or if you’re not ready, we don’t have to do either one.” 

Fear -- desperate and absolute -- washed over Harry. He’d wanted this for so long. Ron’s intimate details about fucking Lavender all those years ago, and all Harry had ever wanted was to have been the one, the hole, the empty space with a cock thrusting deep inside him. Stretched impossibly wide, and having surrendered his body to the intrusion of another, unnamed and unknown.  
Now that person had a name, it was Hugo. And a face—a beautiful face that meant everything to Harry. The thought of it being taken away from him, now when it was so close to happening, was unimaginable. “Yes, Hugo, I’m sure. I want you. Want to feel you inside me. Beyond that, I’ve not yet thought.”

Hugo held out his hand towards Harry entreating him to come forward. As if he was calling a nervous and frightened animal. “Harry, come here.” 

Harry smiled at the thought, even as he moved closer to Hugo, not so much afraid, as he was nervous. Hugo cupped the sides of Harry’s face with his hands, kissing along the edges of Harry’s mouth. The tip of Hugo’s tongue swept along the seam of Harry’s lips, seeking entrance, their tongues twisted and turned in a graceful dance of seduction.

Hugo held him in place while he tilted his own head, giving him better access to Harry and keeping control of what was happening between them. Harry’s heartbeat doubled. _Fuck_, he never would have thought it, but this one small seemingly innocent action had him even harder than he had been just seconds before. 

Harry brought his hands up to Hugo’s collar sliding the buttons, one by one, out of their openings. Each exposure of Hugo’s skin, Harry caressed the muscled smoothness beneath his fingers. Harry’s hand moving down until the shirt at last, hung free. 

Reaching the waist of Hugo’s jeans, Harry unsnapped the fly one snap at a time. Hugo remained silent, the muscles of his stomach expanding and contracting with each movement of Harry’s hands. Tucking his hand inside the gap, Harry pressed its heel against the firmness of Hugo’s erection. With a sharp intake of breath, Hugo drew back, but did not interrupt. Harry continued to press, the dampness of the soft cotton of Hugo’s y-fronts against the back of Harry’s hand. Hugo leaned into the juncture between head and shoulder, breathing softly, “Fuck, that’s good.”

Encouraged, Harry’s thumbs tucked under the waist of Hugo’s jeans and y-fronts, and carefully pushed them over his engorged prick, and past Hugo’s knees. Harry stepped back, watching silently, while Hugo shoved them the rest of the way down with first one foot, then the other. Until caught by the hi-top trainers he wore everywhere. Both chuckled as he stumbled, almost falling on his arse. 

“Harry, get your arse back over here. I need you,” Hugo demanded over his laughter, even as he frantically tried to keep from falling on his bum. Finally, both giggling helplessly, Hugo resorted to vanishing them into the unknown with a flick of his wand. Frustrated by the long process, Hugo yanked the rest of his clothing off and kicked it to the side. When at last he straightened his prick, a dusty pink, curved upward tilting slightly to the left. 

God it was beautiful. Hugo was beautiful and Harry wanted him. He hadn’t realised until that very moment, just how much this bright and engaging young man with the thick ginger curls, freckled skin; intelligence shining out of his sapphire blue eyes and the most brilliant smile had come to mean to him. His breath shuddering, Harry said, “Hugo, I want you. Please, fuck me.” 

Naked from the waist down, his shirt hanging open Hugo returned to kissing Harry, his lips soft and warm, sliding over Harry’s. Hugo walked them backwards, his mouth moving against Harry’s with every step.

The back of Harry’s knees pressed against the edge of the mattress. Tumbling, he fell onto the soft surface, bringing Hugo down with him. Holding his upper body above Harry, Hugo then lowered his head and brushed his lips lightly across Harry’s, the kiss soft and non-threatening?’

Harry wrapped his arms around Hugo’s back rubbing them against the soft material of Hugo’s shirt. Wrinkling the fabric, he pushed it up to reach the warm skin beneath his fingers. His fingertips grazed against Hugo’s side. Above him Hugo squirmed and giggled causing laughter to spill out to Harry. Still chuckling, Harry whispered against Hugo’s lips, “You’re ticklish; I can’t believe I didn’t know. I should remember that.” 

Harry’s hands moved further south until they reached Hugo’s arse, pulling him closer. The pressure delightful as their cocks rubbed together, Harry’s still encased. Hugo moaned and pressing his lips back against Harry’s, slowly rocked his body back and forth, the pleasure increasing, the kiss even more impassioned. Finally Harry pulled his head away and turned it to the side. “Stop.”

Hugo drew back looking questioningly at Harry.

“I think we’d both enjoy this more, if I we were both wearing the same amount of clothing—as an none.” Harry tilted his pelvis up as a reminder of both how good it felt and as a hint for Hugo to move. 

Hugo clambered to his feet stood back up and unfasted Harry’s trousers, gently tugging them and Harry’s blue boxers down Harry’s legs. Laughter bubbled up out of both of them when, again, the issue of shoes interfered with their plans. 

“Shoes should be outlawed in the house, especially the bedroom,” Hugo sighed with great dramatic flair, as he began the complicated unbuckling of Harry’s boots. Only to almost fall over laughing as Harry deadpanned from the bed, “Guess, that’s why your dad never argued against the strict order to remove his shoes the moment he arrived home. They must have come up against this type of situation one too many times.” 

“Harry please! That’s not an image I’ve ever wanted in my mind: my mum and dad desperate for a fuck, only to be felled by dreaded footwear.” He laughed softly, as he removed Harry’s boots. “Then again, it does slow things down a bit, gives one time to think, doesn’t it?” 

He stilled, one hand still holding onto Harry’s foot. Harry waited, unsure of what was happening. Hugo looked up at him, an undiscernible expression on his face. Harry rose up on his elbows. “Hugo, what’s the matter? Surely, you’re not that bothered by the idea of your mum and dad shagging, are you?”

Hugo let out a low, but brief chuckle. “Well, no. Sadly, both Rose and I are very aware of our parents shagging, and quite often. I mean you heard them talking about shagging on the kitchen table. They weren’t kidding.” Hugo then laughed at the expression of dismay Harry knew he was wearing. He and Ginny had barely even kissed in front of their kids. Then again, they had barely kissed away from the kids, either. 

“Well, it’s got _you_ stopped for now. If it’s that important to you, it’s probably best we go ahead and talk about it, whatever it is.” Harry maneuvered himself upward until he sat on the end of the bed. “Spill, I’m listening. Though I must admit your timing could be better.” Harry softened his words with what he hoped was a smile Hugo could understand. 

Hugo twisted around to face Harry, opening his mouth as if to speak, then snapped it shut again, seeming to change his mind. Harry waited, knowing Hugo had something important to say, and that he would say it when he was ready. But Holy Merlin, he hoped it would be soon. Harry, himself, was beyond ready. 

Hugo released a low chuckle, one with no real humour. “It’s just…You’re so _fucking_ perfect, Harry Potter,” he said at last, looking up at Harry. His expression more earnest than Harry ever remembered. 

Harry cringed. With Hugo he wanted to be Harry, just Harry—not _Harry Potter™_, _Boy Who Lived _ or _Saviour of Wizarding World_, or whatever epithet had been applied to him in the years past. 

“I know you hate being referred to as “Harry Potter™” because that’s not really who you are. You’re so much more than that. You’re Harry—a person—not a name. But in this case the use of your full name, as well as your role as Saviour of the world as we know it name, applies.”

Harry watched and listened closely, dreading the possibility of any hero worshipping coming from Hugo. Hugo was supposed to want Harry—to love Harry—for Harry and nothing else. 

His gaze still intent on Harry, Hugo continued. “You really would agree to stop now, if that was what I wanted, wouldn’t you. But, I don’t want to stop, not now. I want you. I want to be the first one at that gorgeous arse of yours, the first to fuck you. No one else, no one,” he said with a sharpness Harry had never heard from Hugo. “Not even my father--especially, not my Dad.” He lunged forward against Harry, his lips pressed hard against Harry’s, his tongue forcefully entering Harry’s mouth, his teeth clashing against Harry’s. 

Angered by the unexpected force of Hugo’s kiss, and the sharpness of his words and the doubt building inside him, that this wasn’t what he had thought it was. That once again he was destined to be disappointed. Harry pulled back. 

With a sigh that sounded as if it was the very edge of despair, Hugo closed his eyes. Silence enveloped the room as neither of them spoke for a moment or two. Slowly reopening them, the shadow of his lashes pale against his cheeks, Hugo kept his gaze down, avoiding looking at Harry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything, and I sure as hell should never have kissed you so roughly. I all but assaulted you.” 

“But, I don’t understand. Why would you say something like that?” he could barely stand to look at Hugo, but knew he had to know the truth. 

“Harry, I know how you feel about him. How you’ve felt about him since before I was even born. I told myself you were over him, that I was truly the one you wanted. I’m just not sure. Even as much as I want you and have wanted you for years, I can’t be a substitute. Harry I need to know. Is it me, or is it my dad you want?” His voice quavered as if frightened of the answer, but he held Harry’s gaze, daring him to say anything but the absolute truth.

Humiliated Harry started to pull away. Gods, he had been such a fool, thinking he had kept his feelings for Ron secret. Everyone, it seemed, had known.

Hugo grabbed his wrist. “Harry, remember—this is who I am, what I do. I read people. Not their minds, I’m not a Legilimens. I read body language, expressions, and word choices when they speak. It’s what makes me so good at financial advising. I know what people really want before they do, even when they think they want something else.” 

Hugo’s voice softened, and he almost it seemed without thinking began to rub his thumb across the inside of Harry’s wrist sending bolts of desire surging through Harry’s blood. “But with you, I’m not certain, the answer’s not as clear. Maybe I’m too close. Maybe the answer means too much to me. I just need to know, to be sure.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since I was twelve. I’ve watched you, listened to you, and seen how you interacted with Dad and with other people. Whenever Dad spoke directly to you your face would light up like it was a second Christmas. You hung on his every word, but when Dad looked at, or smiled at Mum, there would be, for just this flash of a moment, the most devastated look on your face, as if your very heart was breaking. I want to be the one to change that, to be the one that makes you happy.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Harry is getting his wish. Hugo's pretty damn happy about it as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter after this one. It's possible it may be up tomorrow, or the next day, but i'm not making any promises to anyone. :)

Chapter 11 

Harry sat unmoving, while visions and memories of Ron passed through him: Ron’s bitterness over the Triwizard Tournament, his consistent doubt that Harry and Hermione were ever anything but friends, and Ron’s leaving them when Harry had needed him the most. But along with those were Ron’s sacrificing himself in the Wizard’s Chess game so Harry could go forward, Ron rescuing Harry from the Dursley’s and Ron saving him from drowning in the Forest of Dean. 

Yes, in the end Ron had returned, and Harry knew that without him, even with Hermione’s brilliance, the war could never have been won. Ron had long been forgiven, but Harry had not forgotten, could not forget. Now here was this incredible young man who with wide-eyed affection and understanding accepted Harry as he was, never asking anything more of him. Harry knew his answer. He had no doubts.

With a surety he seldom felt about anything anymore, Harry started to speak. Noticing as he did, Hugo biting his lower lip as if terrified of Harry’s answer. Trying his best not to look as if was fraught with worry, but doing a very poor job of it. 

“Hey,” Harry reached out and took Hugo’s hand in his. “You, it’s you I want. I don’t know how you knew of my feelings for your dad, but those feelings aren’t the same anymore. They’ve changed. You are the one I want, now, and for possibly forever.” 

Surprised to see a few tears slide from the corners of Hugo’s eyes, Harry reached up, and wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs. 

Blushing, Hugo laughed. “What a first year thing to do. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Never apologise for your feelings. I shouldn’t have taken so long to answer. My feelings for your father were an adolescent’s impossible dream. What I’d have done, if he’d ever returned them, I don’t know? Probably run screaming for the hills. Don’t get me wrong, I love him. Always will, but not like that, not any longer. Those feeling are reserved for you and you alone.” The joy on Hugo’s face growing with every word Harry said. 

Harry searched Hugo’s face, looking to see if there was any hidden doubt remaining. When he found none he leaned forward, and catching Hugo’s ear lobe between his teeth, whispered in Hugo’s ear. “Now, for the love all that’s holy, are you going to fuck me, or not?” 

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Hugo asked again. Harry nodded, his heart beating in his chest like a military tattoo. “It’s generally more comfortable the first time to start on your stomach, then move to your hands and knees.” Harry looked at him, and then leaned up, grabbed Hugo, giving him a hard and quick kiss; he turned. Anticipation and anxiety building in equal measure, he laid face down, legs slightly apart. 

Hugo rubbed his hand along Harry’s back, a long slow swipe of his broad palm, thumbs digging in along the muscles closest to the spine. “You’re way too tense. Lie still and relax. You’ll be fine. I promise you Harry, I’ll take care of you.”

Harry breathed out allowing himself to relax. His well-worn and much laundered duvet beneath him smelled of warmth and sunshine as his cheek lay against its soft cotton. The comforting weight of Hugo soon straddled his upper thighs, hands pressed against the muscles in Harry’s back, gently but firmly massaging the tension out of Harry. 

Open mouthed kisses pressed along Harry’s neck and along his shoulders, as Hugo stroked and caressed him as well, including Harry’s sensitive sides. Initially flinching when Hugo’s strong hands firmly massaged the flesh of Harry’s arse, Harry then relaxed into the warm caress of Hugo’s touch. Pressed into the mattress, Harry’s cock twitched in anticipation. _Fuck_, but it felt good. Submission the only acceptable response, Harry let himself go. His legs spread even wider opening himself up to the sensation of Hugo’s hands on him. Hugo’s long, knuckled fingers continued the massage, moving ever inward and downward. Harry moaned in response, his cock twitching. 

“Shh, shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Harry knew it to be true. Hugo would take care of him; Hugo was what, or rather who Harry had always needed. Only the timing and their ages had kept them apart. Now, they were where and when they needed to be. 

Hugo’s hands moved down Harry’s crease, fingers separating, softly exploring, quietly seeking. The squeak of the nightstand drawer sliding open and the slightly grating noise of a jar lid being unscrewed a soft explosion in Harry’s ears. At last it was going to happen. 

Then Hugo was back, his fingers cold and wet against Harry’s crease. The mixture warming as Hugo pressed the tip of his finger against Harry’s opening. Circling it smoothly; spiraling slowly inward, relaxing his opening, even as he continued to relax Harry. The tip of his finger pressing against Harry he pushed the end into Harry, the lubricant easing its passage. 

Even so, Harry gasped at the intrusion. It was not the first time he had been breached. It was, however, the first time from another person, and fuck if that didn’t make all the difference in the world. Gently Hugo slid his finger in then back out, and in again, soothing Harry with his words and with his mouth, continuing to press kisses and small nips along his back and shoulders and down his spine. “Harry, you beautiful, beautiful man, do you know how gorgeous you look like this, my finger fucking in and out of you? Are you okay? Do you need time to adjust before I add another?” 

Harry shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I can take more. Removing the one finger, Hugo applied more lubricant to his index and middle fingers. Sliding one it back in, this time Hugo went even deeper. Harry hissed at the burn, at the stretch. Breathing deep he shook his head in a firm negative when Hugo paused, silently questioning. “It’s okay. Go on,” Harry breathed out. 

“You’re doing so good Harry, so very well. I can’t wait to see my cock pushing inside you.” With that he pressed two fingers inside Harry. _Fucking Hell!_ Harry about came up off the bed. This fucking burned. Harry panted shallowly, trying to adjust. It was only going to get worse, he knew, but it was not giving up this opportunity, he wanted it too much. He had survived several attempted murders and one successful one, just because he hadn’t stayed dead, didn’t mean it hadn’t counted. Surely he could stand a little pain. 

Hugo paused, giving Harry time. Leaning close to Harry’s ears, he then asked, “Do you want me to stop?” “My god Harry I wish you could see what I’m seeing,” he whispered, his voice low and gravely. Do you know how incredibly lucky I feel to be the one to see you like this, to be the one to watch you fall apart on your first cock—my cock?” Hugo took in a deep breath and Harry felt him trembling above him, over him, inside him. 

Harry preened at Hugo’s words. He wanted this so much, wanted to be all that Hugo believed him to be. “No, I’m okay. Keep going.” Realising that even as he said the words, it was already true. The intense burn had changed, to a feeling of fullness. Hugo’s fingers twisting and turning in him, scissoring to stretch him even more, and for the love of Godric Gryffindor he wanted more: More fullness, more stretch, even more of the intense burn. 

Hugo continued to talk him through it, “Harry, that’s right. You take my fingers so good. Yes, Harry, push back onto me. Let me know what you want, what you need” With each word Hugo said and each twist of his fingers, Harry relaxed. The feeling of being stretched easing into a feeling of being filled magnificently, yet wanting more. 

“I’m about to add a third finger now. The burn will be intense, but it’ll be better than if I don’t. I want you to be well prepared. I don’t want to do anything that could cause you any more pain or discomfort than necessary.” Adding even more lubricant, Hugo slowly pushed his three fingers into Harry. The excessive amount of slippery substance helping their passage, they slid in easily. 

Harry closed his eyes and envisioned Hugo’s long and blunt tipped fingers as they pushed deep inside him, going further and deeper than before until the tip of one brushed lightly against something inside Harry. Harry jerked. A feeling like he’d never before experienced tore through him, “Fuck! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Hugo what did you…? Whatever it is, please don’t stop.” 

Over the next minutes Hugo fucked Harry with his fingers, driving them in deeper and deeper. All the while Harry rocked his body back and forth driving Hugo’s fingers, rough and solid, into him, striving to reach that secret place inside him. The place that sent sparks flying through Harry’s brain and left him a shattered mess. 

Breath ragged and need pulsating inside him, “Hugo, please, if you don’t stop I’m going to come just from this. I want your cock. I need your cock.” he all but whimpered, so close to begging. 

His fingers still pumping, Hugo whispered in Harry’s ear. “Are you good like this, or do want to change your position.”

“I want to turn over. I need to be able to see you. ” Harry writhed, the words rushing out of him. 

“It’ll be more painful.” 

“I don’t care. It’ll… I’ll be fine. Just gods Hugo, what you’re doing to me. I need.” Harry flung his head back, arching his back, and thrusting his arse out, taking Hugo’s fingers in even deeper. “Fuck Hugo, I need to see you, see your face.”

Hugo turned Harry’s face to the side, kissing the corners of his mouth. Hugo’s pupils so far blown, only a small portion of the blue remained. “As you wish.”

He pulled off Harry giving Harry the room he needed to twist around. Once turned, Harry lifted his arse and pulling his knees to his chest, opened himself up to Hugo “Fuck me.”

Moving down, nesting himself between Harry’s opened legs Hugo asked, “Was this what you saw in your vision? You spread open like this.”

“Yes.” Harry whispered, as he lifted his knees even closer, spreading his bent legs even wider. “My arse open and wet, pulsing with need for your cock to fill me up, filling me in a way I’ve wanted for so very long.” His arse felt agonisingly empty, stretched, but not filled. Hungry, it needed to be filled. 

Hugo fell onto him, his lips claiming Harry, tongue thrusting into Harry’s mouth at first greedy, demanding. Harry felt the first breach of Hugo’s cock at his entrance. 

As he pressed forward into Harry, the burn again started the pain increasing. Hugo slowed his kiss down, increasingly slow and intense, pleasurable slide of his tongue against Harry’s. Caressing and exploring Harry’s mouth, Hugo took the focus off the pain in his arse; increasing the warmth and pleasure and exquisite joy of Hugo’s mouth on his.

Bit by bit Hugo worked his way forward, and with every inroad he made, the pain intensified. Harry might be tempted to tell him to stop, to pull out, that he wasn’t made for this. But no, Harry had ached for this: to be filled and fulfilled by another’s cock.

Like the skin plaster analogy sometimes it really is better to rip it off in one pull, instead of removing it bit by bit. Harry knew that he needed it done in one quick motion. He did just that. Still leisurely kissing Hugo, Harry moved his hands down Hugo’s back to cup his arse, and one movement pressed Hugo into him, until Hugo’s thighs rested against Harry’s arse. 

The pain more than he’d expected, tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. They both stilled silent and unmoving until Hugo moaned, “Oh gods, Harry what you to me. You feel so amazing. So good. But Merlin above, please my darling, can I move now. Oh please sweet- heart let me move.”

Overcome and over joyed by the teasing endearments Hugo was using, Harry nodded. “Yes, my love. It’s okay.”

Slowly, Hugo began to move, just a little at first, pulling out and pushing back in, just small increments. The distance and the speed increasing until without realising it, the pain Harry had been feeling had transformed into the most exquisite pleasure, the way he had always known it would. 

The slippery slide, of the lubricant allowed Hugo cock to go deeply, to pull out further the slide back in slowly to thrusting pushing back in quite quick, speed of raw energy.

Harry’s body was on fire, then Hugo lifted off and changing his angle began fucking him in earnest. Hugo’s curls wild with his exertions, his freckles even more noticeable than usual against the bright pinkness of his exertions. Then he hit it, he hit the spot, that secret part that caused Harry to lose his mind, each time. 

Harry stretched his hand out, reaching for his cock when Hugo slapped his hand away. Hugo’s palm slick with the earlier lubricant wrapped around Harry’s cock; the flat of his thumb perfect sized, swept across Harry’s slit and Harry came. The world exploded around him, his cock exploding; the vision behind his closed eyes exploding. Like nothing he’d ever experienced. 

Harry opened his eyes; Hugo still fucking him, looked down at him, devouring him. Hugo’s movement stuttered, lost its rhythm, and then Hugo too was coming, filing Harry with his spunk. At last they both stilled, Hugo rolled off of Harry and gathered him in his arms. Harry _accioing_ a flannel from the washroom and cleaned them both up, even as Hugo was mumbling “show off.” They fell asleep, almost simultaneously, curled in the other’s arms.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Chapter 12

Harry woke the next morning; Hugo curled up behind him, his breath soft against Harry’s neck. He thought briefly of waking him, but the young man slept so soundly, Harry hadn’t the heart to disturb him. Instead he slipped out from the covers, slid into a clean pair of boxers, cleaned his teeth and ran a soft flannel over his face. He then padded softly down the stairs to make breakfast. 

Fresh ground and French pressed coffee, fluffy Belgian waffles, streaky English bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice later, Harry was putting it all on a tray to take upstairs when he felt the press of a warm chest against his back. 

“Hmm,” he said as he turned to kiss Hugo good morning. Only Hugo looked as if he wasn’t quite ready for the morning. His hair was delightfully rumpled, and his face scruffy against Harry’s skin. Crease marks on his cheek marked where he had laid on the pillow. Harry was unable to hold back the rush of affection he felt at the way Hugo used his arms around Harry to hold himself upright as he grunted a “Morning,” in Harry’s ear. 

“Good morning to you too,” Harry laughed, nuzzling at Hugo’s neck. 

Both jumped back, separating immediately, when Lily’s voice and laughter came through, joyously behind them. “Oh my god, Dad, finally! We’ve all had bets on when you were going to finally come to terms with who you are and embrace it. I can’t wait to tell the others.”

“Umm, Lilly, umm… This is not… I mean…” Oh hell, Harry told himself. He’d just been caught trouserless with another man, also sans trousers, clasped in his arms, and it was barely gone 7 am. There was no denying it. But what did she mean: _“finally come to terms with who he was”? And “tell everyone.” What everyone? _?

“Hugo! Hi! How’s everything? Scorpius is going to be so chuffed, to know he was right. He said you would be Dad’s first shag. I wonder how he knew. Do you think he’s psychic? Scorpius, I mean.” 

“Hi Lily Luna,” Hugo answered back, shuffling his feel and placing his hand over what had up until a few seconds ago been a raging erection pressed against Harry’s thigh. Now it had shrunk down significantly. 

“Hey, I need to know. When was your first shag? Was it last night, or before?”

“Wait, what makes you think Hugo’s my first shag? I could have been shagging blokes all over England. Scotland too, you don’t know.” Harry pouted. 

Hugo and Lily Luna looked at each other, then at him, and back to each other, and broke into gales of laughter, his daughter, especially. That was just hurtful.

“Hugo, give my father a hug and kiss him for me. Tell him I think he’s adorable—“ 

“Standing right here, you know,” Harry muttered.

“But, oh my, he’s too funny for words,” she continued as if he’d never spoken. “Imagine him, shagging all over England. Oh please, as if.” She started giggling all over again.

“And Scotland too, don’t forget,” Hugo said with a wheeze of laughter as he squeezed Harry’s arse and kissed the all but faded scar on Harry’s forehead.

“Still here, you know.” Harry grumped, but he was starting to smile at his daughter’s antics. Then really warmed to the way Hugo was complying to Lily’s earlier instructions. 

Hugo answered, “It was four days ago.” His face was still pink, but he was no longer shuffling his feet, or covering himself. Instead he looked cocky as hell, as if he’d just won the grand prize, as he held Harry in his arms, kissing along Harry’s temple. 

“Right, so today is Sunday, so that would make it Thursday. They’re gonna have to split the pot. James guessed how long it would take correctly, but Scorpius had the right person. I’m so happy for you, Dad.” Her bright smile replaced with one more sobering, gentler, more loving. “Maybe now you can be as happy as Mum.” “I love you Dad, be happy.” She blew them both air kisses and her face disappeared from the flames. 

It had taken them a while, him especially to reach a level of understanding and friendship. Someone had once told him that divorce was a lot like death, but there seemed to be an extras step, or maybe just a second part to that final stop of acceptance. After that final acceptance he had discovered there was an additional addendum, mutual love and friendship.

After all their years together, Harry had been so afraid that their divorce would destroy what they had had for so many years. And it almost had. /finally they had worked their way back to that lifelong and abiding mutual trust and response and above all friendship. He never wanted to lose that. She was too important to him and his kids—their kids. 

Seeing the two of the together made Harry desperate for a love of his own like theirs. 

The truth was he couldn’t fault her decision. They had both pretended, even from the beginning, or perhaps she had not known of her attraction to other women, Perhaps Pansy had just caught her at an extremely vulnerable time. Ginny had always been an extremely passionate woman, one who needed to feel loved and desired. While Harry had long loved and adored her, he could not say with any sense of honesty that he had ever truly desired her.

Pansy Parkinson lusted after Ginny-even after all these years==with every gaze of her eyes, every touch of her hand on Ginny’s skin and every smile the two of them shared.

Hugo turned his head and looked at Harry and waited as if knew what Harry was thinking. “Well, I don’t know about you being as happy as Aunt Ginny or not, but there’s no place I’d rather be than right here with you.” 

Now Harry knew, Harry understood what it was that made Ginny and Pansy still work, even after all this time, because he now had it too. And it was glorious. “I feel exactly the same, maybe even more so.” Harry shut down the floo and its fire-call capabilities. He had no interest in another interruption like the last one. Made sure all the doors were locked and the wards set in place. 

Taking Hugo by the hand he led them to the sofa. Laying down and leaving space between his legs for Hugo to slot between, he pulled Hugo down on top of him. His thoughts, emotions and desires focused solely on the young man in his arms. Harry pressed his hips up to meet Hugo’s. “Fuck me,” he whispered, his voice rough with need, as he met Hugo’s lips in a kiss that made his toes curl.

But just before they did, Hugo whispered with a happy grin on his face. “Then can we go to the zoo”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. All Done. Thank you for taking this journey with me. I loved writing this, though at times I ran into some road blocks. Still, it was a trip I would not have missed for the world.


End file.
